Don't Bury Me
by cdog0803
Summary: The daughter of Jon Arryn flees the Eyrie to avoid a forced marriage. Alone and without direction, she meets Robb Stark on the warpath. Alternate Universe with Robb/OC. It's getting dark.
1. To Fight Another Day

Chapter 1: To Fight Another Day

"'O bury me not...' And his voice failed there.

But they took no heed to his dying prayer.

In a narrow grave, just six by three

They buried him there on the lone prairie."

-The Dying Cowboy, an old folk song

* * *

Rebecca sat on the ground in the meager Godswood, the only one the Eyrie had to offer, ignoring the dirt that was surely staining her clothes. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the earthy scent of the trees. She was dimly aware of a woman calling her name, but she ignored it. The only peace she found was in the Godswood, and it seemed even that was limited.

The voice became more and more intrusive, growing louder and louder as the source moved closer to her. Rebecca sighed and stood up, brushing off her skirt. She left the Godswood and nearly bumped into her handmaiden.

"Lady Tully is looking for you, m'lady. She wants to speak with you in the High Hall," she said, curtseying. Rebecca's brow momentarily knitted itself as she searched for the girl's name. Wasn't it some sort of flower? Lavender? Daisy?

"Thank you, Rose," Rebecca replied. The girl nodded and turned around, leaving Rebecca alone. Rebecca looked down at her dress. It was covered in dirt, as she had expected. Lysa Tully would love to see her come into the High Hall wearing filthy, ragged clothes. It would just be another way for her to seize Rebecca's mistakes and claim them to be faults. She sighed. There was nothing she could do now. She'd have to deal with her stepmother's sneers and her half-brother's snickers.

As she made her way through the halls, Rebecca let her mind wander. Why was she being called to the High Hall? This wasn't the first time her stepmother wanted to speak with her for one reason or another (often to scold her for a slight, real or imagined), but it was the first time she was called to speak to her stepmother in a public place. Was she going to scold me in front of the entire court? For some reason, it didn't seem like Lady Lysa's style of doing things. The heavy wooden doors to the High Hall had a guard on each side, as usual. One of them recognized Rebecca, and gave her a smile as she passed. She quickly flashed one back and turned her head away as they opened the doors for her.

All of her musing was put to rest the moment she entered the room. Her half brother, Robert, was sitting on the weirwood throne in the center of the room, and his mother Lysa perched on the arm of the chair. Robert was looking vacantly off into empty space, scratching his chin with a small sigh while Lysa's eyes sparked with a malicious excitement.

The hall, usually only occupied by one or two servants and a few visiting Lords, was packed with people she didn't recognize. All of their eyes were fixed upon her. A small chill ran through her and the hairs in the back of her neck stood up.

"How good of you to join us, dear daughter," Lysa began, ignoring the fact that they shared no blood. "I see I must have interrupted you from playing in the muck. That was what you were doing, wasn't it?" she added, casting her gaze down at her dress. Rebecca's cheeks burned, but she said nothing, only looked at her feet. "Answer me, girl."

"I was in the Godswood-"

"Silence. If I had the sense the gods gave a walnut, I'd have thrown you out the moon door the moment Jon died." The crowd shifted uneasily, whispering to each other. "Luckily for you, I've always had more mercy than sense. Lord Eon, what do you think?"

An old man leaning on a cane, covered with liver spots and nearly crippled by gout, stepped out of the crowd and looked her over. His mouth spread into a wide, leering grin. "Aye, she'll do, my lady," he said. "She'll do."

Rebecca was lost, but knew better than to speak out of turn, so she bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing.

"Rebecca, this is Lord Eon Hunter. He's the Lord of Longbow Hall."

"Yes, my lady."

"Insolent girl. Was I finished speaking? Lord Eon's wife died long ago, and he has been looking for a new one for several years. You will marry him in three days time."

The news slowly sank in. This man, this old, ugly, gouty man was to marry her. She'd be expected to marry him, lay with him, bear his sons and share his bed. Gods, she wanted to vomit.

"Will that be all, my lady?" She asked, dread filling her stomach and tightening her chest.

"Yes. Go and do whatever it is you do these days."

Rebecca turned and stormed out of the room, her eyes prickling with unshed tears. She shoved the doors open, hearing them slam was satisfying but did nothing to stop the raging torrent of emotions inside of her.

She broke into a run, all the control she had over her emotions falling away from her like running water, and let the tears come falling out, sliding hot wet tracts down her cheeks. She didn't know where she was running. All she knew in that moment was the drive to escape the impending marriage and get out of the watchful gaze of her stepmother.

She didn't notice that she arrived at her bedroom until she had collapsed on her bed, the door still ajar behind her. Rebecca had spoken to her father about marriage earlier, before his death. He ruffled her hair and promised that he wouldn't force her to marry someone she didn't want to. He was always sweet to her, spoiling her with everything he could. "You look so much like your mother," he'd sometimes say. Rebecca had heard little about her mother, but she knew her name was Jeyne Royce, that she had been killed in childbirth by the very girl who bore her image.

If her father were here, he'd put a stop to this immediately. He wouldn't marry her to a man three or four times her age. But Jon Arryn was dead and buried, and nothing would change that.

She felt a hand on the back of her shoulder, but she ignored it. She didn't want anyone's pity. She turned to see it was her maid, Rose, patting her on the back.

"Shhh," she whispered, pulling Rebecca into a hug. When her sobs didn't quiet, Rose started to stroke Rebecca's head, gently and maternally. "Lord Eon won't be so bad. House Hunter is a very prominent family in the Vale, and Longbow Hall is one of the greater castles."

Rebecca sniffed. "I don't care about castles. I'm from the most prominent house in the entire Vale."

"Lord Eon must be ages old. He'll be dead before winter comes, and nobody will force you to marry again."

"I don't want to marry him at all!"

"Life isn't like the songs," Rose said with a hint of bitterness, pulling Rebecca's face up to look at her and cupping her chin. "There won't be a knight with golden hair to love you and marry you."

"I'm so young," Rebecca whispered, more to herself than to Rose. Just the other day she might have thought that sixteen years was an old enough age for one to marry, but that was before she learned of her husband to be, before she knew just how low her stepmother would stoop just to insult her daughter-in-law.

"You're sixteen years old. You're older than my mother was when she was married off," Rose said. Her eyes misted over for a moment before she shook her head.

Rose held Rebecca as she cried, and only let go when the sun was setting and painting the sky orange.

* * *

Night had fallen, and the winds had picked up, howling just outside her window. Rebecca lay awake in bed, her mind refusing to shut down and allow her the peace of sleep. As hard as she tried, she couldn't forget about her impending marriage for more than a few moments. Every time she shut her eyes, she remembered the face of Lord Eon Hunter, his sunken eyes and his greedy, lustful smile. He looked her over with a hunger that chilled her to the bone, as if she was just a horse that he was planning to buy from the market. _As high as honor_. Those were the words of house Arryn. What was the honorable thing to do? She'd have to marry Lord Hunter to be truly honorable. But the marriage was only arranged because Lady Lysa hated her, always had. The only difference between years ago and now was that she no longer had to hide her hatred of Jon Arryn's daughter, now that he was dead. She had always regarded Rebecca as though she were a bastard child, even though she was just as legitimate as Lysa's son.

Rebecca rolled over. The marriage was just a way to get back at Rebecca, to make her suffer for a crime she didn't commit, and at the same time preventing anyone from using her to claim the Vale for their own.

The honorable thing would be to marry him. It's what her father would do in her scenario.

_I'm not my father_, Rebecca thought, standing up. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulder, thankful for its warmth. She opened the door, wincing at the creaking on its hinges, and crept into the hallway.

* * *

The halls were mercifully empty, occupied only by Rebecca, chased by the sound of her own footsteps and the constant, looming fear of detection. Every noise she made seemed to amplify themselves and echo against the walls. Soon she was jumping at shadows, her heart racing at every little thing. If she were found, Lady Lysa would surely throw her into the dungeons until her wedding. Maybe she'd cancel the wedding. It was a lovely fantasy, but Rebecca knew that being caught would likely only mean she'd have to say her vows in chains.

An owl hooted, and Rebecca whipped her head around. She was being so silly she wanted to laugh. It was just an owl, she reassured herself. The sound set her on edge, and the darkness did nothing to help her. The curtain of blackness limited her vision, and made the shadows more sinister, the noises more threatening.

She wrapped her hand around the small pendant that hung at her neck, her good luck charm. It made her feel a little safer. As high as honor, she reassured herself. It didn't help. How could she find courage if what she was doing went against her house words? Father would forgive me. He'd want me to be happy rather than follow through with a marriage arranged for spite.

She stopped for a moment to get her bearings. She was in the courtyard, just a few yards from the castle doors. If she could just get out, she would be free. She'd have to worry about the perilous climb down the mountain, the murdering hill clansmen that she had been warned about as a child, and the cold, but she'd be free.

She heard a noise, the scuff of a boot against stone, and cocked her head to the side, still as the stone walls around her.

The noise couldn't have come from her, she hadn't been moving. A figure walked slowly out from behind the corner, a man, she noticed. His hands were clasped behind his back.

He noticed her, and began to walk towards her, still moving at the same pace he had before. Maybe he's one of the servants or a guard.

He heart froze when she saw his doublet bore the sigil of house Hunter, five silver arrows fanned out on brown.

"Lovely night for a stroll isn't it?" He asked. _Maybe he doesn't recognize_ me, she thought._ Maybe he'll let me go._ "You're that Arryn girl," he added. "The late Jon Arryn's daughter. You're to marry my father."

_There's no way he's letting me go now_. "I don't know what you're talking about," she began weakly. "My name is-"

"Please don't lie to me. I've had enough for one day. You were thinking of running away, weren't you?" Her silence was all the answer he needed. "My father isn't very nice looking is he? He's quite a brute. And you're such a pretty young thing. Oh, things my brothers would do to you if they found you wandering the halls alone... Well, you're lucky I'm nothing like the rest of my family. Go on, then," he said, waving his hand in the general direction of the door.

Rebecca's mouth fell open in surprise. "You're letting me go?"

"What can I say, I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress." He swept past her, whistling as he walked.

"What's your name?" She called after him. She had to know his name, her savior's name.

He looked over his shoulder, a smile written upon his face. "It's Gilwood. I'm the heir to Longbow hall. If they catch you, I was never here. Now run along, girl."

Rebecca didn't need to be told twice, shoving the door open and sprinting into the night.

* * *

**A/N: I own absolutely nothing, except for Rebecca. I hope you guys enjoy this.**


	2. Three Crossroads

Chapter 2: Three Crossroads

The inevitable battle between Stark and Lannister was looming closer everyday, and it seemed that he had less than a few days before he was tested in battle. Robb pulled on his chainmail and tunic made of boiled leather, fiddling with the ends to quell the uneven beat of his heart. Though the men may be slow to realize it, they were at war, and Robb would be damned if he was killed by a Lannister assassin before the fighting even began. If I'm going to die so far from Winterfell, it best be with a sword in my hand, he thought. Robb would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. Still, as Theon said, shit could be worse. It wasn't every man that got to have a direwolf by their side in battle, he supposed. He strapped on a sword belt and left the tent, stepping out into the open camp air. Everyone was on their feet, flitting every which way to take down tents and to pack their things before moving. Theon leaned against a tree just outside the entrance, eating an apple with his bow slung across his shoulder. When he saw Robb, he wiped his mouth and tossed the apple to the muddy ground. "Took you long enough," he said with a crooked, condescending smile. "Are you ready?"

Robb nodded stoically, determined to hide his fear from his best friend. "Have the Lannisters moved?"

Theon shook his head, kicking his apple across the pathway. "Jaime Lannister's army is sitting nice and comfortably at the siege at Riverrun, and Tywin's is blocking the crossing at the Trident. We still need to cross the Twins before we can get there, you know, unless you want to take on Tywin Lannister before you've fought your first battle."

"I'm not that foolish. Today's the day we're crossing this damnable bridge, with or without Lord Frey's consent."

Theon gave a twisted grin and looked towards the two towers of the Twins. "If he disobeys the call to arms, are we going to take the Twins or are we going to tear it down, brick by brick?"

"It's not a northern castle. If we need to take the castle, it will end up being a strategic outpost for the duration of the war. After the war, my grandfather will award it to someone he deems fitting," he replied plainly.

"A shame. The singers would paint you out to be a northern Tywin Lannister of sorts."

They wandered to the edge of camp, checking on the men and making sure everyone was ready to cross-or, more likely, attack. The sun was high in the sky, slowly cooking the men in their bulky armor. Robb and Theon found a shady area at the eastern edge of camp and stood there, watching the men slowly trickle out of camp.

"Have you ever gotten a good look at one of the Mormont girl's teats?" Theon asked, his eyes trailing Dacey as she passed by, licking his lips softly. She shot him a prickling glare and muttered something under her breath as she passed.

"Theon, she's one of the best warriors the North has. If you leave her with child..." Robb let his Theon use his imagination to finish the threat.

"Please, I'm sure that she-bear could win a battle whilst giving birth."

Robb opened his mouth, maybe to scold Theon or maybe to agree with him that Mormonts bred tough women, when he heard a twig snap behind him. Acting on instinct, he whirled around and drew his sword. Theon drew his bow beside him, as quick as lightning, nocking an arrow and aiming at the bushes.

Standing with one hand against the tree for support was a girl. Her face was dirty, but Robb could tell she was pretty, maybe even beautiful, with dark brown hair and large eyes. She wore a tattered blue and white dress, but the white was so worn it was almost grey. She looked at the two of them, her brown eyes wide with fear, and Robb realized they still had their weapons drawn.

"Theon," he hissed, hastily sheathing his sword. "Put away your bow."

"She could be a Lannister spy," he said back, keeping his arrow trained on the girl's breast. "Speak up, girl. Who sent you? Was it Jaime or Tywin?" At the word 'girl,' her eyes darkened.

"I'm not a spy," she insisted steadily, although she was wavering on the spot.

"Theon..." something in Robb's voice made Theon submit, releasing tension on the string until it was no longer threatening, but still accessible. "What's your name?" he asked, turning back to the girl. She wasn't much younger than him, he noticed.

"I-I'm Rose, ser," she said in a trembling voice, looking at the ground in front of Robb's feet. Something about tone of her voice made Robb believe she was hiding something. "I'm from the Vale. Please, if you have anything to eat..." her voice trailed off and her knees buckled. Robb rushed forward and caught her before she hit the ground.

"You still think she's a spy?" Robb said bitingly as he hooked his arm underneath her knees and picked her up. She was small and frail, almost like a bird with a broken wing, and looked like she hadn't eaten in days.

Theon shrugged. "She could just be a whore trying to rob you blind."

"In front of an army?"

"You don't know whores the way I do," Theon said wistfully.

"And I thank the old gods every day because of it. Which way to the maester?"

"Follow me." He made no move to assist Robb as he wove his way through the crowd. Along the way, a few soldiers shot glances at Robb, whispering at the impropriety. Let them talk, he thought. It made no difference to him.

Theon stopped in front of the maester's tent and waited for Robb to catch up. They walked through the doors together. A wrinkled man whose name Robb had already forgotten was tying a bandage around the exposed shin bone of a soldier wearing the white sunburst of house Karstark when they entered the man's tent. In the corner was an open chest filled with potions and surgical instruments, although their names and purposes were lost on him.

Hearing the two men enter, the maester turned his head. His eyes widened with surprise to see Robb. "Lord Stark," he said, bowing his head with respect. "I'll see to you in a moment."

"It's her that needs seeing to," Robb explained, looking down at the girl in his arms. He could see a thin, silver chain around her neck. Whatever it was holding was concealed beneath the cut of her dress. He almost reached down and pulled it out, pushed along by curiosity to find out the girl's identity. That's none of my business, he told himself. Besides, it wouldn't be proper if anyone saw him reaching down her dress.

"One moment." The maester tightened the white bandage, now dotted with red, around the man's calf and stood up, brushing his hands off. "What seems to be the problem?"

"She came out of the woods and asked if we had any food, then collapsed just before us. We brought her here as quickly as we could."

The maester nodded. "Set her down on this table, please." Robb laid her on the table as gently as he could, mindful of her brown hair fanning out around her. He backed away, and the maester pressed two fingers to her wrist. After a few minutes he nodded and pulled away. "She's malnourished. All she needs is rest and food, and we have plenty of both here."

Robb nodded and ran his hand through his hair. "Let me know when she wakes. I'm interested in what she might know from the journey here."

"Absolutely, my lord."

Robb turned and left the tent, Theon not far behind. Once they were out of earshot, Theon grabbed Robb's wrist tightly, stopping him in his tracks. "You're interested in what she knows?"

"If she's from the Vale, she could have reached us from the Northern passage or the by passing through the Bloody Gate. If she passed through the Gate, it's possible she might have seen Tywin Lannister's army."

Theon's eyes lit up with excitement. "She can tell us how many men they have."

Robb nodded. "She could be invaluable. Now find the bannermen. We need to plan how to take the Twins in case the negotiations go sour."

Theon dashed off. As Robb made his way to the command tent, he couldn't quite forget the way her skin felt as he held her and, though he might have imagined it, how she curled against him ever so slightly in his arms.

* * *

Robb rested his hands on the table. Every one of his bannermen, as well as Theon, all seemed to have their own separate plan on how to take the Twins. None of them seemed like the right way to take them. The damn castle had two gates, there was no sure way to starve them out, even if they did have time. They needed to cross immediately, and the only way to do that was to storm the castle, but they couldn't afford to lose that much men and still hope to threaten the Lannisters, nor could they even afford to lose the little time it would take. Gods, he needed Lord Frey to allow the crossing now more than ever.

He heard footsteps approach the entrance of the tent. Looking over, he saw Catelyn walk into the room with Ser Rodrik in tow. Everyone stood up, respectfully.

"Well?" Robb said. Whether they would cross or be forced to attack, Robb wanted to have it done with as quickly as possible. "What did he say?"

"Lord Walder has granted your crossing," Catelyn said. Robb let out a sigh of relief and glanced at his men. They all avoided his gaze, looking at their feet and clearing their throats. "His men are yours as well, less the four hundred he will keep here to hold the crossing against any who would pursue you."

"And what does he want in return?" Robb asked, getting straight to the point. It's better if she gets this over with as quickly as possible.

"You will be taking on his son, Olyvar, as your personal squire." Her eyes were distracted, Robb could tell his mother was thinking of other things. "He expects a knighthood in good time."

"Fine, fine." Surely that won't be all. "And?"

"Arya will marry his son, Waldron, when they both come of age."

"She won't be happy about that," Robb replied. Jon would flay him if he heard he was marrying off Arya. The only other option was to leave her with the Lannisters.

Catelyn's eyes shone with a brief flicker of amusement, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. She looked at Robb hesitantly, and he waited for her to continue. Oh good gods, there's more.

"And, when the fighting is done," she said slowly, as if bracing herself for what she was about to say. "You will marry one of his daughters." He kept a straight face, hiding his emotions. He prayed to the old gods that Walder Frey's daughters didn't look like their father. Theon looked at him, a trying and failing to hold back a grin. "Whichever you prefer," Catelyn continued. "He has a number he thinks will be... suitable."

"I see," Robb said, his voice even. He decided that as soon as he married one of the Frey girls, he'd hang Walder Frey for oathbreaking. "Did you get a look at his daughters?"

Theon struggled to keep from laughing. You're supposed to be on my side, Robb wanted to say. "I did," his mother said, ignoring the Greyjoy.

"And?"

"One was..." her voice trailed off, and she looked away. An uneasy silence filled the room. "Do you consent?" she asked.

"Can I refuse?"

"Not if you want to cross," she replied.

"Then I consent." Damn you, Walder Frey. Robb looked back at the map, now useless. They wouldn't need to storm the Twins. Not today, at least. "Get the men ready," he said. "I want to be across that damn bridge by nightfall."

The men filed out of the tent, one by one, with only Catelyn, Robb, and Theon left. Catelyn opened her mouth, likely to reassure him, to tell Robb it wasn't as bad as it sounded, but he didn't want to hear it.

Mercifully, she was interrupted by one of the guards. "We're sorry, Lord Stark, but he insisted on speaking with you." He shuffled to the side, and a man stood behind him.

"What is it?" Robb asked.

"The maester sent me. He wanted me to tell you that she's awake, and that you'd know what that means."

Robb nodded. "Thank you. You may leave." The man bowed his head and left the tent. Robb turned to Theon. "Let's ask Rose some questions. I'm in the mood for some good news."

* * *

**Hey people! I really should have left an author's note (more of a writer's note, I suppose) on the last chapter, but I was tired, and I had nothing to say. I would like to apologize for taking the dialogue from the TV show, as soon as I started writing this chapter I realized that this had started to soon before the events so that Rebecca hadn't affected anything yet. In case nobody pieced it together, Rebecca lied to Robb and said her name was Rose. Just in case you didn't figure it out.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Sanctuary

Chapter 3: Sanctuary

Rebecca woke up slowly, rising from the comfort and warmth of sleep she hadn't felt since she left the Eyrie. The road North had been cold and hard, and the little sleep she had managed to find was plagued with nightmares. She had to look over her shoulder every few hours just to make sure Lysa hadn't sent out riders to hunt her down and bring her back in chains. Mercifully, she had either remained undetected or perhaps Lysa simply didn't care enough to want to make sure she was still alive.

The maester in front of her handed her a loaf of bread. "Eat," he said. He looked old, almost as old as Lord Eon. No, she told herself. I won't think about any of them. She had moved on, off to start a new life at the court of someone, and she'd be known as Rose from now on. The thought didn't bother her as much as it should have.

She took a bite of the bread. It was hard and chewy, and she had to swallow several times to get it down her throat. "Where am I?" She asked when she stopped eating for a moment. She had nearly forgotten just how hungry she had gotten on the road. She didn't have time nor think to bring food for the journey, and had been forced to steal food from the merchants she passed. She promised herself that one day she'd pay them back, but she knew in all likelihood she would never see them again.

"You're at the camp of Lord Stark," he replied, taking a pitcher of water and setting it down beside her.

"Camp?" Taking another bite, she looked around her. The last thing she remembered was a massive camp and two men talking to her, but then she must have fallen unconscious. Was she at an army camp? It would certainly make sense, judging by the sheer size of the camp. She hadn't paid much attention to the conflict when it had first started, when Catelyn came to the Eyrie with Tyrion Lannister as her prisoner. Lysa had forbade her from speaking with her, threatening to lock her in her room if she didn't comply, so Rebecca had no idea how the war had started, or if it even was a war.

The maester nodded and left the tent. She could see him through the opening, speaking with another man. He gestured to her occasionally, then looked over his shoulder to see if she was listening.

Rebecca quickly looked down at the pitcher of water next to her. She picked it up and poured some into a metal cup, lifting it to her lips and drinking from it. Water had been easier to come by, she passed several streams on her way to wherever she was.

The maester walked back into the tent and crouched in front of the table she was laying on, propped up against her elbows, until he was eye level with her. "Lord Stark was very curious about you. He's going to come here soon, and ask you a few questions."

Rebecca tried not to swallow the lump in her throat. "What kind of questions?"

He shrugged. "You might have seen something that could help him with the war. He'll also want to make sure you are not a spy." He seemed to notice Rebecca's distress. "You needn't worry. Lord Stark is just as honorable as his father. He won't torture you, or hurt you. You have nothing to be afraid of." If you have nothing to hide, he was saying. You have nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide.

Rebecca nodded weakly. "Do you know why I passed out."

The maester's eyes flashed with excitement. The old man clearly loved his work. "You were exhausted and hungry," he said. "As you can see," looking at the plate of crumbs in front of her. Had she eaten the whole loaf of bread? She didn't even notice, she was so hungry.

They sat next to each other, both silent. Rebecca wondered if he could sense her nervousness. He didn't say anything, didn't try to tell her everything would be okay or that she didn't have to worry, and she was grateful. It wouldn't have made her feel better, and it would have made her even more scared to know someone knew she was feeling uneasy, even if not for the reasons he thought she was. His brow was furrowed, and he seemed to be deep in thought.

Was he trying to figure out who she was? Maybe Lysa put a bounty on her head. Rebecca's heart was pounding. To distract herself, she started to retrace her steps before she passed out. She recalled entering the clearing through the forest and seeing the army. There were two men in front of her, one her age and the other a few years older. The older man wouldn't stop pointing his bow at her. The younger boy, the one with the auburn hair, asked for her name, and she thought she could remember being pressed against his chest as he carried her to the maester's tent.

She heard footsteps outside the entrance and looked up to see the man with the red hair enter the tent. He must be Lord Stark, she realized. "My lord," she said, looking down. The maester excused himself and left the tent, brushing past Lord Stark as he went.

"It's just Robb," he said. "I'm not Lord Stark until my father dies."

"As you wish."

He looked at her like thoughtfully, his head cocked to the side like a dog. "You said your name was Rose. You never said your last name."

She almost said her name was Rose Stone, almost told him that she was a bastard. Nobody would force her to marry again, nobody would want a bastard. At the last second, she decided against it. "Templeton, my- Robb," she said, almost calling him a lord. "Rose Templeton. Sworn to house Royce."

"Where are you from? You said the Vale, but where in the Vale?"

"The Eyrie. I was a ward there."

"Why did you leave?"

Rebecca mentally cursed herself for not thinking of a lie beforehand. She decided to tell him the truth of why she ran, amended slightly. "My father wanted to marry me to a man in exchange for political reasons."

Robb nodded. "So you ran away."

"So I ran away," she repeated.

He looked at the metal pitcher, with water condensing on the outside. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am, thank you."

"Did you get something to eat?" he asked. It occurred to Rebecca that one day, Robb would make a good father. She banished the thought from her mind.

"Yes, I had some bread." Bread and water. It wasn't the usual fare Rebecca had, but she was willing to make sacrifices. Her gaze dropped to her lap and she realized just how damaged the dress she was wearing was. "I think I'll need new clothes," she said softly, her face heating up.

She watched Robb struggle to hold back a smile. "My mother has some dresses you could borrow, or perhaps one of the Mormonts has something you can wear. We'll be passing through the Twins soon, and Lord Frey had plenty of daughters, one of them might let you borrow something." He smiled almost apologetically. "There aren't many women in an army, and I'm hesitant to have you borrow clothes from a... camp follower."

His face turned red and felt herself blushing as well. It was well known that camp followers were little more than common whores.

"I suppose you'll also be needing a tent," he added, looking at his feet. He glanced up at her, his eyes wide. "I mean, if you are staying, that is-"

"I have nowhere else to go. If you'll let me stay with you, if it isn't a problem..." she trailed off.

He smiled. "It's no problem at all." He paused. "You should know that this is an army, and there might be danger. We won't be near any castle for quite some time."

Rebecca shrugged. "It can't be any worse than when I was on my own. It was so cold..." she wrapped her arms around herself, chilled by the mere memory of the freezing nights. A thought occurred to her, and she stopped. "Aren't you going to make sure I'm not a Lannister spy first?"

Robb laughed. She could have sworn there was the slightest bit of discomfort in his voice."I'm good at reading people. I can tell you don't mean any harm."

The last thing Rebecca heard about the war was about how Robb's father, the true Lord Stark, had gotten imprisoned because he trusted the wrong person. "Thank you," she said.

"Speaking of the Lannisters," he said, "How did you leave the Vale? If you went through the Bloody Gate, you could have passed the Lannister army." He thought for a second, then added, "Any information would be help us greatly."

Rebecca shook her head. "I'm sorry. I went through the Northern path, along the Bite coast."

He nodded, his brow furrowed slightly. "I understand. I had just hoped you had seen something. But if you haven't, then that's fine." He seemed to notice that they were the only ones in the tent. "I'll let you rest now," he said as, clearing his throat. "I will see you later, Rose." He turned and left the tent.

Rose. She had almost forgotten, during her conversation with Robb, that she was going by the name of Rose. She had half a mind to call after him, to shout his name just before he was out of the tent, and tell him the truth, who she really was and why she ran. Her logic stopped her. He was at war, and the last thing he needed was to anger Lady Lysa, the regent of the Vale. He didn't need yet another enemy to worry about. She'd be sent back or worse, perhaps Robb wouldn't take kindly to being lied to and take her head.

She watched as he ducked under the tent flap and left, his cloak trailing behind him, catching in the wind and blowing to his side. She laid back down flat on the table, her neck stiff from the way she had been leaning up to look at Robb. She was tired, but she knew if she fell asleep she'd only have to wake up again to cross the bridge with the rest of the army.

She missed the fires that constantly burned in the hearths at the Eyrie. She wouldn't admit it, she was too proud and too afraid that the men (that Robb) would think her weak, but she missed the heat that they gave.

She knew that she'd never be able to go back to the Eyrie. She wasn't welcome there, and she didn't want to go back, but... it was home to her. It was the only home she'd known. I'll just need to make a new home now, she thought. She rolled over on her side and hoped that nobody would notice the tears leaving streaks through the dirt on her cheeks.

* * *

Robb couldn't stop thinking about Rose. She was hiding something, that much was obvious even to him. Would she ever trust me enough to say what it is? He doubted it. He was also fairly certain that whatever her secret was, it had something to do with the necklace he noticed around her neck. When he asked what her last name was, she ran her hand along the chain to make sure it was tucked out of sight. She might not have even noticed she was doing it, perhaps it was just a nervous habit she developed on the run (for who-knows-how long, on her own, with no food and no water, Robb couldn't help but be impressed by her strength), but it made him start to worry slightly.

What would she even have to hide from him, anyway? She could have been a bastard, and not wanted him to know. Robb didn't care about bastards, except that he never wanted to have one. He saw the persecution they faced firsthand whenever he saw his mother speak with Jon. Every time she mistreated him just because of who his parents were, he swore a vow to himself never to father a bastard.

He made a mental note to himself to tell Rose that he didn't mistreat bastards as the way he saw others do. Or maybe she's not a bastard at all, he reminded himself. He knew she was hiding something, but beyond that he wasn't sure about anything else she said.

He felt obligated to discover what she was lying to him about. He didn't feel completely comfortable letting someone who had a secret live with them. He wouldn't force her to tell, but he'd talk to her about it.

Looking around, Robb saw that he had reached the edge of the encampment. The front of the army, packed and ready to move, started to march towards the Twins, ready to cross the bridge.

Robb pushed all thoughts of Rose out of his head. He had a war to win, a family to rescue, and after all that, he got to look forward to taking one of Lord Walder's spawn as a wife. For a moment, Robb wondered if Rose had been trying to escape the Twins when she ran into his army, if maybe she was the Frey he was to marry, and had lied so she wouldn't be forced to marry the old, wrinkled lord she had imagined Robb looked like. He immediately dismissed the idea, she had clearly been on the road for a long time while the Twins were barely a stone's throw away, she had no problems entering the Twins, without fear of a family member recognizing her. Still, the thought that he might be forced to marry her made him happier than is should have.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for all of the follows! I usually edit slower than I write, so that means I have the next few chapters written out to be uploaded later this week. My usual editor is on vacation, which means I had to recruit a new editor, who I will refer to as "J-Dizzle." The next chapter is just filler, but it was the single most difficult thing I've ever written in my entire life. Nothing even happens, there was no emotional scenes or anything, but I just had a really hard time. Again, thank you for the follows and favorites. Let me know what you guys think of the story so far.**


	4. A Little Darkness

Chapter 4: A Little Darkness

There was less than a week until Robb had to fight the Lannisters. The army made good time from the Twins, and were nearly to Riverrun. It had only been a few days, but the Twins had finally disappeared from view, shielded by forests and hills and distance. He stepped out of his tent, and began walking to the maester's tent.

Robb was eager to forget what he had agreed to at Lord Frey's castle, at least until he would be forced to hold up his end of the bargain when the war ends. Some small part of him tried to reassure himself that Walder Frey must have some pretty daughters for a man with so many damn children, but that part was losing to his doubt, and he constantly found himself trying not to imagine a wife with Walder Frey's face. That being said, perhaps he wouldn't mind a woman with the man's sex drive.

Robb came upon the medical tent, and could hear the sounds of argument brewing inside, a man and woman's voice arguing. Robb ducked under the flap of fabric and entered. Rose was on her feet, and shouting at the maester. The old man was distracted and calm, helping another patient while responding to her. Rose, on the other hand, looked furious.

As soon as the maester turned to see Robb standing in the entryway, he bowed. "Lord Stark," he said.

Rose whirled around to look at him. She was in a dress he had borrowed from one of Lord Frey's daughters, a long sleeved blue and grey piece of clothing that went well with her brown hair. It briefly occurred to Robb that perhaps she was wearing one of the dresses of his soon-to-be wife.

"Robb," she said slowly, holding back her anger. She did remember to call him by his first name. He always hated titles, especially since that princeling Joffrey came to Winterfell and insisted everyone call him 'prince.' "The maester is refusing to let me leave. He doesn't think I'm fully healed."

Robb could tell by the way she spat out the words that she was insulted by the very notion that she couldn't handle a simple walk. "Let her go," he said, turning to the maester. "She seems to think she's fine, and I have something to show her."

The maester mumbled something under his breath. "As you wish, my lord," he said, raising his voice so Robb could hear.

Rose grinned at him. "Thank you." Robb stepped out of the tent, and a few seconds later, Rose followed him. "What was it that you wanted to show me?" she asked, her hands clasped behind her back. She blinked at the sunlight, even though it was almost night has been inside for too long, Robb thought.

Robb felt a smile spread across his face. "Close your eyes," he said. "It's a surprise."

* * *

"Can I open my eyes now?" Rebecca asked.

"Not yet," Robb said, his voice full of tantalizing excitement. Damn him, Rebecca thought. Why can't he just tell me what it is?

"How about now?"

She could hear Robb chuckle. "You never do give up, do you?"

Rebecca smiled. "Never."

"We're almost there. You can open them... now."

Eagerly, Rebecca opened her eyes. She blinked a few times to get used to the light. When she finally could see straight, her eyes widened with surprise. She was in a tent, that much was clear. It was smaller than the maester's tent, but bigger than the one's she saw most of the soldier's using.

There was a bed in the corner, covered in furs, by far better than anything she had been sleeping in for the past couple of days. There were candles lit around the room.

Rebecca's mouth fell open. "Is this mine?"

"It's not quite as luxurious as anything you must have had in the Eyrie, but we didn't have a lot to work with," Robb said, moving out from behind her. "It's not very big either," he added, a little ruefully. "We can find you a room at Riverrun once we get there..."

Rebecca turned and threw her arms around him. Robb stumbled backwards with surprise. He quickly caught his balance and wrapped his arms around her.

"This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," she said, pulling away to look him in the eyes. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"It was nothing," he said, shrugging.

"It was wonderful," Rebecca said. "Thank you." A silence fell between them, her tent nearly forgotten. All Rebecca could think about was of him, how nice he was to her even though she claimed she was from a lesser house. It was almost like the stories, with the wonderful knight who didn't care that she was a lowborn. Maybe someday Rebecca could tell him who she really was, and he'd protect her from the wrath of Lysa Tully. She was tempted to stand on the tips of her toes and press her lips against his.

"Robb," a voice came from behind the two of them, slow and full of caution, like approaching a wild animal. Rebecca turned to see a woman with the same red hair and blue eyes as Robb. The woman's eyes were suspicious, and Rebecca didn't blame her. She and Robb had been caught in a tent alone. Rumors would spread if anyone caught them like that. "Is this the girl who passed out?" the woman asked, tilting her head to the side and taking in Rebecca's appearance.

"Yes, this is her. Rose, this is my mother, Catelyn. Mother, this is Rose," Robb explained. Lady Catelyn held out her hand, and Rebecca shook it. Catelyn's eyes never left Rebecca's. Robb has her eyes, Rebecca noticed, though his were more of the blue of the sky after a storm, while Catelyn's were river blue.

"You came all the way from the Eyrie?" Catelyn asked.

"I did," Rebecca replied.

"My sister, Lysa is the Lady of the Vale. Did you ever meet her?"

Rebecca's heart started pounding. Sister? What if Lysa sent out a raven to ask if anyone had seen her? If so, Catelyn would be one of the first people to receive it. It was a miracle Rebecca hadn't been recognized yet, but now she was tempting her luck by meeting Lysa's sister.

"I saw her from time to time. I wouldn't say we met, however." Rebecca's head spun, and her legs were weak. She looked to her side to see Robb staring at her, noticing her pale face.

"Are you feeling dizzy?" Robb asked, wrapping one arm around her back and the other clutching her shoulder, easing her down to sit on the bed. She leaned into him slightly, her mind reeling at the shock. She liked the feeling of his arms around her, making her feel a little safer, like he'd protect her against the Tully sisters, a hopeless fantasy, especially since he was half Tully himself.

"I'm sorry, I'm starting to feel dizzy," she explained. Robb was at her side immediately, wrapping one arm around her back and the other clutching her shoulder, easing her down to sit on the bed.

"It could be your condition," he pointed out. "Maybe you weren't as rested as you thought."

Rebecca shrugged helplessly. "Maybe."

"Would you like me to get the maester?" Lady Catelyn asked.

"No!" Rebecca said, and realized she said it far too loudly than she should have. "I mean, there's no need to trouble him. I'm feeling better already." She tried to smile reassuringly.

Catelyn raised an eyebrow. "I'll let you rest," she said, and shot Robb a look. Whatever meaning she tried to get across to him was lost, his eyes were fixed on Rebecca.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yes, Robb, I'm fine. It's getting late, and if you don't mind, I think I need to rest." Robb slowly stood up, his arms falling to his sides. Rebecca laid down on her bed.

"I'll see you later, Rose," he said, turning and exiting her tent. Rebecca watched him leave, her heart heavy in her chest. The sun was dipping below the horizon, turning to evening rapidly. She rolled over and shut her eyes, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Rebecca watched helplessly as a lion tore out the throat of the wolf. She wanted to stop the animals from fighting, to push them apart and rescue the wolf, but she couldn't move, something or someone behind her was holding her in place. The lion had finished ripping apart the wolf, now lying in a pool of its own blood, and let out a triumphant, deafening roar. In the darkness, it looked black.

Rebecca screamed, she couldn't help it. The lion looked over at her, it's lip curled in a snarl. It stalked towards her, taking its time to reach her. When it was almost within arm's reach, if only she could move her arms, it crouched, getting ready to pounce.

She had wings, but she didn't know how to use them, she couldn't move or even think, all she wanted to do was save the poor wolf before it bled to death, not even fully accepting the danger she was in.

With a ferocious roar, the lion jumped, his paws outstretched and reaching for her throat.

Rebecca woke, her heart pounding. The dream had been so real. But it was a dream nonetheless, she reminded herself. Just because it seemed real did not make it any more so.

The tent was black, without any trace of light slipping in through the walls. It must be night time, she thought. She rolled onto her other side until she faced the flaps. She stared at the blackness for a few seconds, letting her eyes adjust to the dark.

A shadow moved out of the corner of her eye, and before she could do anything it was beside her bed. She sat up, her eyes wide with panic, when she felt a hand cover her mouth.

"Shut up," a voice whispered next to her ear. She tried to think of who it was. She grabbed his hand and tried to pull it away from her mouth. "Stop moving," he hissed.

It was the man with the bow and arrow, who almost shot her the day she passed out. He thought she was a spy. Dread hardened in the pit of her stomach when she realized that they were completely and utterly alone in the tent. He could kill her, or worse, and nobody would know until morning. She wouldn't be seen or heard.

"I wanted to talk to you, Rose, and I didn't want to be interrupted. Do you feel that?" Something cold and sharp pressed up against her throat. "That's a knife. If you make any noise at all, I'll cut your throat and walk out of the tent, and no one will suspect me. Do you understand?"

Rebecca nodded quickly. What was his name? The man pulled his hand back slowly, prepared to clamp it back down at a moment's notice."You didn't scream," he noted. "You're a smart little girl."

Rebecca sat back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm no 'little girl,'" she spat.

"We'll see about that. I know you're lying to him."

A chill ran down her spine. She reached up around her neck and took her amulet in the palm of her hand. As high as honor. "I don't know what you're-"

"Oh, shut it," he snapped. "I know you're lying to Robb about something, and I intend to find out what it is."

His voice sounded so familiar, she could have sworn she knew him from somewhere. He was the man with the bow and arrow, she realized. He was there the day I fell. Thinking back on it, he had also been with her earlier that day, riding beside Robb with the rest of his men. The Greyjoy boy, she remembered.

"This is just a friendly warning," he continued. "When I find out what it is, and I will, I'll kill you." She saw a glint of light flash of the flat of his blade as he twisted it, cutting her skin ever so slightly. "Enjoy the rest of your sleep, Rose," he said, and slipped out of the tent, leaving no trace that she hadn't imagined it all, or if she had been visited by a ghost in her sleep.

* * *

**A/N: For whatever reason, this chapter represents everything I hate in this world. I could not, to save my life, write this damnable 2000 words for the longest time. Eventually I wrote the scene where Theon threatens Rebecca and worked my way backwards, culminating in me stitching together the bloody corpses of each chapter and pumping life into it. Kinda like Frankenstein. I hope you enjoy reading this more than I enjoyed writing it. Hopefully the next chapter is a little better.**


	5. The Eve of Battle

Chapter 5: The Eve of Battle

The men all had their ways to forget the battle looming over them, like some vulture circling a dying beast. Some men tried to push away their fear by laughing too loudly with their friends, drinking ale until they could scarcely walk, and pulling unsuspecting women into their laps. Rebecca walked by them, swatting away the hand of a cocky soldier with dark brown hair.

She had been uncomfortable with the men's stares at first, unfamiliar with the lack of respect the blatant desire in their eyes, but eventually she had learned to ignore it. The men didn't persist when she pushed them away or ignored their advances, and the groping hands were something she would have to deal with if she wanted to pass off as a serving girl, as Rose.

The camp was built like a maze, complete with twisting paths and turns that led to dead dead end after dead end, and it didn't help that her own tent was identical to the others. To make matters worse, the tents moved every day to throw off the scent of the enemy. Rebecca stumbled over tent stakes, wayward rocks, and tree roots in the dark, hands outstretched, groping for the only place that she could be alone with her thoughts and away from the men. After a while of walking around in what felt like circles, cursing the fact that she forgot to bring a candle or torch, she finally, blissfully found her tent. She threw open the flaps and stepped inside, relaxing her shoulders and releasing a sigh of relief.

She was just about to bend down and brush the dirt off of her ragged skirt, when she heard a polite cough from in front of her. She straightened, eyes wide with surprise.

She suddenly became painfully aware that this was not, in fact, in her own tent. For the first time since entering, she took a good look at the tent. It was larger than the one Robb had managed to scrounge up for her, and wide enough for an elegant table to be set in the center, with a map of Westeros lying across the dark wooden surface. Stone pieces of wolves and lions stood still upon it, as if patiently awaiting their next move. A candle stood beside the sprawling map, burning low.

The next thing she noticed was Robb, sitting on the opposite side of the table with a metal goblet in his hand and a pitcher of wine to his side. His haunted blue eyes studied her face as she looked away, an embarrassed flush spreading across her cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry, I must be in wrong tent," she apologised, quickly turning away from him.

Robb looked up at her with a hollow smile. "It is rather easy to get lost, isn't it? When we first left Winterfell, I found myself wandering around the camp for hours looking for my tent."

Winterfell. Robb had mentioned it a few times to her, but he always found a way to change the subject, always dancing around the point. Rebecca knew little about the castle, and her curiosity was bubbling at the surface.

"What's it like there, at Winterfell?" she inquired. "I'm sorry, I should go," she said, remembering her place.

Robb shook his head. "Please stay. I find that my thoughts leave something to be desired in the way of company." He gestured to a chair on the opposite side of the table. "Would you like some wine?" he asked. Rebecca shook her head and sat down. "Now, what were you asking?"

Rebecca felt her face heat up. "I was wondering what Winterfell was like," she said softly. "You talk about it so much, but I know nothing of the place.."

Robb's eyes lit up with excitement. "It's always covered in snow, no matter the season, but it's warm inside. Bran the Builder, my ancestor, built the castle on hot springs, and hot water runs through the walls, heating it even in the freezing cold of winter. It's one of the main reasons the Northerners can survive so far up North. The walls are tall, and my brother Bran used to climb then before he..." his voice broke and he stopped for a moment before heaving a shuddering sigh. "Before he fell. The maester says he'll never walk again."

"I wish the Eyrie had those hot springs you mentioned," she said wistfully, changing the topic. "Some of the colder nights I almost froze my feet off. The height only made the chill worse."

Robb chuckled and took a sip from his cup. "Well, Winter is Coming, after all."

Rebecca smiled and opened her mouth to reply, to say something about being as high as honor, but she caught herself just in time. You are Rose, she reminded herself. Rebecca Arryn doesn't exist any more.

Unfortunately, it seemed as though Robb had noticed her hesitation. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," she said, trying to reassure him.

"Rose," he said, sounding like a warning, the growl of a wolf before it pounced.

"Really, it's nothing. Don't worry about it," she replied. His eyes narrowed but he didn't respond.

They both fell silent, the tension between them slowly growing.

"Are you afraid?" Rebecca said after a moment. "About what might happen tomorrow?" Robb nodded slowly, looking down at the map. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm scared."

"You won't lose," she reassured him. He raised his eyebrows.

"Tell me about the Eyrie," he said, and Rebecca's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't expected him to ask about her.

"Are you sure? It's not that interesting," she said, looking down at the table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"I'm sure it's plenty interesting," he replied, smiling at her.

Rebecca shrugged. "There's not much to tell. I fostered there. I grew up there. I ran away there."

For a moment, Robb seemed satisfied with her half-truth. "Did Jon Arryn have a daughter?"

Rebecca's heart dropped. "W-what are you talking about?" she asked, already planning a way to escape the tent if need be.

"One of the families sworn to my house had a daughter, Jeyne Poole, fostered at Winterfell because my sister Sansa was the same age. Did Jon Arryn have a daughter your age?"

Rebecca nodded slowly, her heart pounding. Did he know who she was? Maybe his friend found out who she was and told him. But he had threatened her only a few days ago. There was no way he could know. "Yes, there was a girl my age at the Eyrie, but we were never close," she said, careful to keep her voice even, which proved to be a harder feat than she anticipated. She panicked and felt her throat close, making it nearly impossible to speak. "She disappeared not long ago." Not a complete lie. "And then my parents told me I was to marry." Again, not a complete lie, but not the entire truth, either.

"And then you came here," he finished.

Rebecca nodded. "And then I came here."

They both fell silent for a few moments, until Robb asked, "What was the girl's name? Jon Arryn's daughter, that is."

Rebecca shrugged. "I think it was something like Rebecca. Why do you ask?" He knows.

Robb shrugged. "I think I was meant to marry her, at one point."

Rebecca nearly swallowed her own tongue. "What?"

Robb chuckled to himself, staring at the wall of the tent. "The Tullys were joined with both the Arryns and the Starks through marriage, but the Starks and Arryns were never joined. There was talk between my father and Jon Arryn that I might marry his daughter to cement a three-way alliance between the families. Come to think of it, that was probably a damn good idea. I could use the Vale's men if this situation escalates into a war. Unfortunately, when Jon Arryn died, Lady Lysa refused any more talk of the matter."

Rebecca had never hated Lysa Tully more than she had in that moment. If only the woman had thought of anything other than spiting her stepdaughter for longer than a few seconds, Rebecca might actually be happy for once. "That's a shame," she said, wistfully.

He shrugged and took another sip of wine. "It seems the gods have other plans for me. I'm to marry one of Walder Frey's daughters."

Rebecca felt her heart go out to Robb. She'd been in his shoes not long ago. "Do you at least know which one?" she asked.

Robb shook his head. "Not even. I am to choose one after the war has ended. Tell me, how can I love a woman I will have only just met?" When Rebecca said nothing, he continued, "How can I be expected to marry her, and lie with her, and let her bear my children when I don't even know her name yet? My parents grew to love each other with time, but what if I can't learn to love her?"

He looked at her so pleadingly that Rebecca wanted to say something, anything, to make him feel better. She had nothing to tell him, no reassurances that would be lies anyway. "I know how you feel," was all she could say.

Robb nodded, gently swirling the red liquid in his cup. "Who was the man you were to marry? You never told me, and I'd like to know."

"Are you asking as a Lord, or as a friend?"

"As a friend," he replied.

Rebecca grinned. "Then I'll tell you tomorrow, after the battle."

Robb groaned, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That's hardly fair. What if I don't survive?"

"Then I guess you'll never know who I was to marry."

Robb nodded solemnly. "I suppose I'll just have to come back, then."

"I suppose you will," she replied. They both fell silent, avoiding each other's eyes. Finally, Rebecca stood. "I should go. It's getting late, and you need your rest for the battle tomorrow."

Robb nodded and stood up. "Would you like me to walk you to your tent?" he asked, always the gentleman.

Rebecca shook her head. "No, I can find my way back. Thank you for offering. Goodnight, Robb."

"Goodnight, Rose," he replied.

She turned and stepped out. "Robb," she called softly. He was staring at the maps on the table, and looked up when he heard his name. "Good luck," she all but whispered, and slipped away into the night.

* * *

Rose was humming, of all things, on her way back to the tent. Theon ground his teeth, his brow settled in what would become a permanent scowl if he wasn't careful. She was hiding something, he knew, and he'd find out what it was soon enough.

As she passed by the dark corner he was waiting in (not hiding, especially not from her), he cleared his throat and stepped into the torch light.

Rose spun around, her dress fanning out around her. Theon made a mental note to return the dress to whatever Frey it had been borrowed from after everything was over, one way or another.

He felt a grin spread across his face as he watched her stumble backwards, terror written upon her face. Good, he thought. The bitch should be afraid.

"You scared me," she said, her hand over her heart. His lip curled upwards. She didn't even recognize him in the darkness. Things were not going as he planned.

"I meant to, Rose," he said in the same sneering tone he had used when he snuck into her tent the other night. Her eyes widened. "Remember me? You should know, I've still got that knife, so you'd better think twice before you do something stupid, like call for help. Do you understand?" She nodded quickly. "Good. Now I've been meaning to talk to you for a few days, but you've been notoriously hard to track down. So I decided to talk to you later, and I sent a raven to your father, the Ser of Ninestars."

He could have laughed at the way Rose took a few steps back, the way her eyes widened. "What?" She asked, horrified.

Theon tutted. "You're going to have to try a little harder if you want to convince the great Robb Stark of who you are. I sent a raven to your parents," adding emphasis to the word to show his disbelief, "inquiring about a Rose Templeton." He threw his arms up in the air. "Hell, who knows? Maybe you are telling the truth. But the way I see it, if you're lying, you'll want me to keep your secret from Robb, and if you're telling the truth, you'll want me to not tell your parents where you are. Either way, that's going to cost you."

"What do you want from me?" She asked, dropping her gaze to his boots, defeated.

Theon felt his grin widen. This was the moment he had been waiting for. "For starters, I'd love for you to admit I was right. Then, well, there's only one thing I like to be stroked more than my ego, and I think you could help me there."

Rose looked up, glaring at him. "You're sick," she spat, and turned to walk away. Theon didn't bother following her. He had her right where he needed her, and there was nothing she could do about it. She'd be disgusted at first, but sooner or later she'd come crawling back to him, begging to keep her secret. And once she was desperate enough, she'd do anything he wanted.

Theon let her storm away. Maybe after he was done with her, he'd even keep her secret. Or maybe he'd turn her over to Robb. He felt a flicker of heat in his belly when he thought of the look of horror and betrayal that would be on her face when she'd be brought before the young Lord Stark in chains. No, he didn't mind letting her walk away now, not when she would be coming back soon enough. Hell, he didn't mind watching her walk away, not one bit.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I was almost ready to post this last Monday, but then I had a mental breakdown and nearly destroyed my house looking for a damn pen, and then the rest of the week was spent planning the plot with my editor. You guys said you liked Theon as a villain, so here's a POV. I should be able to post the next chapter at least by Friday, probably sooner. I worked extra hard to post this today because on this day, many years ago, I came into this world. It's the anniversary of my birth. Enjoy this chapter!**


	6. Sink or Swim

Chapter 6: Sink or Swim

Rebecca couldn't sleep, staying awake with her eyes wide open regardless of how tired she was or how much she wanted to sleep, until at last she managed to find a few moments of rest, but even that was plagued with nightmares. Every time it was the same dream, the tides of battle turned and Jaime Lannister cut his way through the men until he reached Robb, the Kingslayer's sword flashing in the sunlight, stained crimson red with the blood of Stark men.

She woke up with a pounding heart, and the memory of her dream earlier in the week came flooding to the forefront of her mind. The lion tearing out the throat of the wolf, then turning for her. Her unease was mostly due to the impending battle, but there was a small part of it that was from Theon and his damn inability to mind his own business. That, and his horrible, horrible mind. Did he think she'd (she might as well just go out and say it, no use dancing around the point) let him fuck her in exchange for keeping her secret? Seven hells, she'd let him shout it out to all of Westeros before she'd let him so much as touch her.

The men were to leave at the first sign of morning light, before the sun had even risen. She could hear them outside her tent, sharpening their weapons and even cooking breakfast, a dry, uninviting fare since they couldn't light a fire without notifying the Lannisters of where they were. Nobody was preparing their tents to leave. They might not have to.

Rebecca weighed the options in her head. She could either stay where she was and have a few more miserable hours of almost-sleep, or she could find Robb and wish him good luck in the battle.

She stood up and put on a dress, courtesy of one of Lord Frey's daughters. House Frey was wealthy by the standards of other bannermen, but the man had who-knows-how-many daughters, and more sons than anyone could count. Some poor girl was probably without a dress right now, forced to borrow one of her brother's clothes and ignore the jeers of her siblings. Rebecca would give it back, she vowed to herself. Nobody should do without for her sake.

She stepped out of the tent and took in the camp. If the mood last night was apprehensive, then this morning it was mournful. The men, some wearing pieced together scraps of armor and chest plates several sizes too big, some scarcely more than boys, having run away from home to fight in the war, hypnotized by the tales of glory and the spoils of war and wanting a taste of their own, now nervously tapping their feet on the ground. They'd fight her tooth and nail if she asked them about it, but they were scared. They just wanted to see their families again, the glory of war forgotten, drowned by the simple desire to live out their life in peace, to have a wife and children.

Rebecca walked forward, retracing her steps from last night. She passed the nook that Theon had hid in to talk to her, nothing more than a simple alcove made nearly invisible by the dark. She felt her hairs on the back of her neck stand up, as if she were being watched. She sped up, wanting to put the entire experience behind her.

Finally, she reached the tent she entered the night before. Pushing aside the flap, she ducked under the opening and entered the tent.

Robb stood only a few feet from where he had been sitting last night, wearing a full set of armor. The pitcher of wine he had been drinking from was empty and discarded onto the floor. Hearing her enter, he whirled around, drawing his sword from the scabbard at his side. His eyes widened when he saw who it was, and he lowered the sword.

"I thought you were someone else," he explained, and turned to the armor rack next to his bed. The only piece of armor left on it was his shining helmet, which he lifted.

"Who else is there?" she said lightly, hiding the sting of his words in her tone. Of course he probably had someone, a lover or maybe a camp follower willing to warm his bed at night.

Robb shrugged. "You might have been an assassin seeking to end this war before it starts." Of course, that made a lot more sense. Why else would he draw his sword upon hearing another's entry? Certainly not if he had been expecting a whore.

Rebecca cleared her throat. "You're leaving for battle," she said. It wasn't a question.

Robb nodded and looked down at his helmet. He started to wipe off an imaginary speck of dirt. "I might not be alive this time tomorrow."

"It's just as likely you will be alive this time tomorrow," she protested.

Robb laughed hollowly, his attention still on his helmet. "I doubt it. I've no experience with battle, and I'm fighting the Kingslayer, of all people, the best damn fighter in all of Westeros."

"You outnumber him. You're taking him by surprise. And you've got your own personal guard who will keep you safe even if it costs them their lives."

Robb raised his eyebrows and looked her in the eye. "I'm scared," he admitted.

Rebecca nodded and stepped closer. "Me too." She was painfully aware of how close she was to him, how if he exhaled harshly it would break across the bridge of her nose, if he shifted to his either foot their foreheads would practically be touching. Her heart was pounding.

The moment was ruined as Robb looked at something over her shoulder. Rebecca turned to see none other than Theon Greyjoy, wearing his usual cocky grin. When he saw Rebecca, it spread even wider, if possible. Gods, it would be satisfying if she could wipe that damn smile off his face.

"I see you took my advice and had yourself a woman before the battle," he said, dropping Rebecca a conspiratorial wink. That bastard. Rebecca could feel her face heating up.

Thankfully, Robb seemed just as flustered as her. "I-we-nothing," he took a deep breath. "Nothing happened Theon."

Theon held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm sure. Now if you two could keep your hands off each other for long enough for me to get a sentence in, I have something to say." He paused to make sure he had their undivided attention. "The sun is rising, Robb. Or it will be soon. We need to get moving."

Robb nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Theon. I'll meet you outside in a few minutes."

Theon nodded and shot Rose (Rebecca, my name is Rebecca, she berated herself, bad enough that everyone knew her by a fake name, now she was thinking of herself as someone who didn't exist, a figment of her own imagination) a look so full of suggestion that she wanted to slap him or ignore him, or even both. He stepped out of the tent before she could do either, disappearing into the half-light.

Robb was looking at his helmet again. He took a deep breath, and put it on. His eyes were just barely visible through the slits, but Rebecca could make out the barest hints of blue.

"Do you remember when you promised you'd tell me who your parents would have you marry?" he asked, his voice sounding so much different when muffled by the layer of metal.

Rebecca nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She made a promise to herself to put more distance between her and Robb when he came back. How she was feeling was inappropriate, he was to be married to another, and she was a lady, and she ought to act like one.

"I'll hold you to your promise when I get back, my lady," he said. "Goodbye, Rose."

"No," she said. "Not goodbye. We'll see each other again."

"Then... until next time, Rose."

"Until next time, Robb," she replied. He brushed past her and exited the tent, leaving her alone in what could soon be a dead man's tent.

* * *

As the men marched forward into the Whispering woods, Rebecca could feel a pain in the back of her throat. She could see Robb on his horse, riding beside Theon and the rest of his guard. She'd tried to stay strong, to hide her feelings. She knew how hard it could be to take part in an arranged marriage, and if she told him how she felt it would only make doing his duty even harder.

Because Rebecca had no doubts that Robb would do his duty, honor his promise and marry his betrothed like Rebecca never could. Not even the L-word could keep him from holding up his end of the bargain.

Not even, dare she say it, Love.

* * *

Robb took every opportunity he could to steal a look back at Rose. She was still standing there, watching him go. It wasn't proper to spend so much time with her, to speak in the privacy of their own tents. The men would whisper, and whispers turn into rumors, and he'd have to explain to Walder Frey that he was not having a love affair with another woman before he even married the Frey girl.

He looked to the side, at Theon, who was telling some dumb joke (a lewd one, too, judging by the look of distaste on Dacey Mormont's face beside him). Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rose.

He couldn't tell if she was still looking at him or not. Focus, he commanded himself. He had a battle to win, and he couldn't waste time pining for a girl he could never have. He was betrothed to another.

If only Rose was of a greater house.

* * *

The sun had risen, and though it was still early in the morning, Rebecca had never been more awake. She had thought that the waiting was the hardest part, but she knew that she was wrong. Knowing that the men were in battle, that Robb could be killed at any moment (hell, he could be dead already, she thought, but immediately pushed it out of her head, not wanting to think about anything like that) was by far the worst part.

The men were expected to be back by now. The battle wouldn't take long at all, whether they won or lost. The damn forest was hiding all the men and keeping their banners tucked out of sight (though most of the men didn't carry the banners to the battle, the forest would limit visibility and the fabric would catch on branches and make movement impossible), though she supposed that was the goal of fighting in the forest, the Lannisters wouldn't see the army coming. Unfortunately, it went both ways. She wouldn't be able to know if the ambush worked and if Robb survived until long after the battle ended.

The sound of horses shook her from her musing. Of course Robb had won. He ambushed the Lannisters (albeit the Kingslayer himself), and outnumbered them nearly ten to one. There was little doubt that the men were returning victorious. What concerned her was Robb's survival. Jaime Lannister was a fierce warrior, and, seeing his defeat, might have tried to kill Robb, even at the cost of his life.

She could see the very front of the army, with the men on horseback riding towards the camp. They were too far away to make out who was who, and too soaked in red to make out any distinguishing features on their armor, and she was forced to wait until they rode up to scarcely a stone's throw away from her.

The armor which the night before had seemed so diverse, with the different colors and sizes and materials, now seemed to all look the same, a uniform grey with red stains splashed seemingly at random, barely visible on the chainmail, but a gleaming crimson on the plate metal. The men dismounted, sliding off their horses. They were the lords and sons of lords, wealthy enough to have their own horse and to be able to ride with Robb. The backbone of the army, the common peasants who wore armor scavenged from corpses and fought with the pitchforks they brought from their farms, were still out of sight, still marching through the trees to get back to camp.

The man in the front of the group of lordlings took off his helmet, with a dent on the right side. For a second her heart skipped a beat, her mind seizing on little details, convincing herself that Robb had had that scratch along his breastplate earlier that morning, that his helmet was the very same shape. She ground her teeth and furrowed her brow when the helmet was off, and the man shook out his black hair, shining with sweat, and flashed her a cocky smile. Theon. Of course that son of a bitch survived. It seemed as though the seven always favored assholes and tyrants.

A small crowd had gathered around the men, mostly washerwomen and a few cooks, but Rebecca could see Lady Catelyn a few rows of people back, lifting herself on the tips of her toes to search for her son.

Catelyn looked around wildly for her son, scanning the helmets of the men as they took off their helmets. One by one, Rebecca recognized the soldiers. There was Olyvar Frey, Robin Flint, and the massive Smalljon Umber.

"The battle is won!" the Smalljon announced in his booming voice, a wide grin spreading across his face. A cheer rose from the crowd. Rebecca let out a sigh.

"And what of Robb?" Catelyn called out, and the crowd fell silent. "What of my son?"

Rebecca felt her heart drop. What good was a victory if Robb was dead? At least before the battle, there was some chance that either side might sue for peace, but they had passed the point of no return. If Robb was killed in battle, the Lannisters wouldn't stop until House Stark had been rooted out and put to the sword.

"I'm here," a voice said from behind the Smalljon. The Umber man stepped aside, revealing a man.

His armor was familiar, the direwolf etched into the metal standing out at second glance, even through the red splatter on the plate.

He pulled off his helmet, and Rebecca met his river blue eyes.

It was Robb

She nearly collapsed from relief, a weight that she hadn't known was there was lifted from her chest. Robb flashed her a grin. He looked much better than he had the night before, the bags under his eyes gone, the skin of his face more loose. Rebecca didn't realize she was walking towards him until he moved to meet her halfway.

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. Looked into his eyes. Pressed her lips against his.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, so this is the first chapter since I nearly had a breakdown. I read some advice about becoming a better writer, and so I decided to take said advice. Short term, worst decision ever. Long term, best decision ever. Let me know what you guys think. I've finished the next few chapters, all I have left to do is edit and upload them. Enjoy!**


	7. If Only For A While

Chapter 7: If Only For A Moment

The first thing Rebecca noticed after kissing him was how wonderfully, wonderfully warm Robb's lips were against hers. His mouth was chapped, battered and cut by the wind, and he tasted salty. He was moving his lips against hers, pulling her tight against him, her breasts rubbing against his chest.

She pulled away from his mouth for a pair of heartbeats, just long enough to look him in the eyes. That was all it took for her to remember where and who she was. The people around her, the camp followers as well as the soldiers that followed her into battle, were all staring at her, open-mouthed. What sort of woman was she that kissed a man in front of the brother of his betrothed? Who kissed a man promised to another in front of an army?

Rebecca pressed the heel of her hand against Robb's chest and pushed away, leaving a confused look on his face. He didn't fight to keep her in his arms, but his hands stayed on her upper arms until she pulled them away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and turned around, towards the crowd that was still frozen in shock. She could see some of the men, most of them wearing the Frey sigil on their doublets, glaring at her and shooting her dirty looks.

"Rose," Robb called after her softly behind her. Rebecca ignored him. She was going to have to deal with just about everyone in the camp now, the disapproving glares and the resentful scowls as she passed by the soldiers. Especially the Freys.

Maybe, just maybe, if Lord Walder Frey knew it was none other than Rebecca Arryn who kissed Robb, not some common serving girl, he might be more... forgiving towards Robb.

Then again, Walder Frey might decide to not take any chances, and send her back to Lady Lysa. Or simply kill her.

No, Rebecca could never reveal her true identity. It would only make Robb's position in the war more difficult. If Lysa found out that he was sheltering her stepdaughter, she might threaten to join the war with the Lannisters unless she is returned.

As odd as it seemed, the lower she was, the safer she was. Nobody could be troubled to kill a serving girl. Nobody cared about Rose Templeton. The only person anyone cared about was Rebecca Arryn.

Except maybe Robb.

She let the crowd of people swallow her up, slipping away from the bannermen that looked as though they might throw her in the dungeons with the first excuse they found, away from Robb and his lips, and away from the damned, all-present sigil of the Freys, two blue towers and a bridge on a field of grey.

* * *

Rose disappeared before he could call her name again, her grey and blue dress slipping out of sight behind a fat, greasy cook and one of the men stationed to guard camp.

He had half a mind to push his way through the crowd and find her, pull her into his arms again, but the other half, the more honorable half, forced him to stay where he was.

It wouldn't do for him to be seen chasing women around the camp, especially not since his betrothal. He was a Stark, and a Stark was always honorable.

That was why, if he were asked by Lord Frey, he would admit that he kissed Rose. He'd say that until he was blue in the face.

But the truth was that Rose kissed him. Not the other way around.

But the Starks were honorable folk, and he knew he couldn't blame a young woman for what happened. Even if it was because of her. Even if he felt the same way for her as she did for him.

Robb felt a hand on his shoulder and looked to the side. Standing there, still covered in blood from the battle, was Olyvar Frey. His brow was furrowed.

"That was in poor taste," he said. "My father will threaten to pull his men out now that they've seen that. They'll say that you've lain with her."

Robb shrugged. "Your family will complain, but in the end they'll keep their mouths shut. The betrothal is still in place, and unless your father withdraws his support, it will stay that way."

Olyvar grudgingly nodded. "Still, he's a prickly man, and he holds a grudge well. He won't take kindly to you being so open about your relationship, even if he won't do anything about it."

Robb nodded and returned his gaze to the crowd, who had now started to whisper amongst themselves. "I'll just have to deal with the fallout, then," he said.

Whatever he wanted from Rebecca would have to come second to his betrothal. He needed the Frey support, but he also needed friends loyalty. A man like Olyvar Frey standing behind him could well mean the difference between life and death, between victory and defeat. Friends were hard to come by in a war, and Robb was not the type of man who would throw such a gift away without a second thought. They were brothers in arms, now, and soon they would be brothers in blood.

Rebecca sat on her bed, knees hugged against her chest, just as she had been for hours, since long before the sun set. She could hear the arguing all the way from Robb's tent. They were too far away too make out what they were saying, or even who was doing the shouting, but it had to be about her. They had just won a battle (two, if you counted the follow up victory one of the soldiers had told her about, where they pressed the advantage and broke the siege of Riverrun), and it was the time for celebrations, not for petty quarrels and disputes.

Robb should be with his men, drinking and toasting. Instead, he was in his tent, getting chastised like a child by men twice his age, with his entire army to hear. And it was all her fault.

Theon, of course, was probably having the time of his life. He got to watch as Rebecca made a fool of herself in front of the entire North, all the while waiting for her to finally crack and agree to whatever his demands were.

Finally, Rebecca stood up. She couldn't take the constant quiet yelling from the distance without going a little mad. She stepped out of her tent, looking side to side to make sure Theon hadn't followed her like he had the last time.

Seeing the coast was clear, Rebecca walked forward, not fully sure of where she was going.

* * *

The nerve of these men. Robb was their liege, and yet the still thought of him as nothing more than a child, a boy who thought with his cock rather than his head. Theon hadn't helped in the slightest. Rather than defend his friend, Theon had thought it funny to describe, in great detail, all of the fictional times he had walked in on Robb and Rose in a compromising position.

He had lead his men to battle.

He had broken the siege of Riverrun.

He had captured Jaime Lannister.

And his men still thought him a boy.

He was sick of them all, the Frey supporters who called him a boy, and his men who just stood there, silent as church mice, as their leader was scolded. Especially the men who stood silently.

"Everyone out," Robb said coldly. For the most part, the men complied without complaint, shuffling out of the narrow flap. Black Walder and Ser Perwyn, both of them Freys, hung back, waiting until everyone else had trickled out. Olyvar Frey looked warily over his shoulder before he left, shooting Robb a glance. Be careful, his look was saying, and then he disappeared into the night.

"What is it?" Robb asked gruffly.

Black Walder shot Perwyn a glance. "We wanted to discuss how this changes the nature of our agreement," Walder said. "You've dishonored your betrothal, insulted our family-"

"I've dishonored nothing," Robb interrupted. "A betrothal is an agreement, and until I marry your..." Robb thoughts flashed back to the Frey family tree. What relation would one of Lord Frey's daughters be to Black Walder? Great aunt? "Relative," he finished.

"That may be, but if Lord Walder thinks you've dishonored the betrothal, we're to pull the Frey forces out of the war."

Robb snorted. "Lord Walder won't care what I do, so long as the betrothal is still in place. He wouldn't care if I left half the women across Westeros with child, so long as the heir to the North is of Frey blood."

Black Walder ground his teeth and straightened, looking down at Robb. "The next Lord of Winterfell will be of Frey blood," he spat out. "But he doesn't have to be of Stark blood." With that, he whirled around, leaving Robb and Ser Perwyn alone.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Perwyn turned to Robb. "Walder has always been out of hand. We call him Black Walder, for his temper."

Robb chuckled. "I can see why."

"You pricked his pride today. You lead the men to victory, and to him you are just a boy. He's jealous."

"And one day we will be kin."

"I think my family should worry more about winning the war, and less about who you will marry after it ends. Besides," he said, smiling. "We're to be kin someday, as well."

Robb nodded. "If it means anything, you'll make much better family than Black Walder."

Perwyn cocked his head back and let out a long laugh. "I'd imagine so. I'll see you in the morning, my lord."

"Ser Perwyn," Robb called after him.

The man paused, turning on his heel and looking back at Robb hesitantly.

"Call me Robb."

Perwyn nodded and left the tent, smiling as he did.

Robb turned back to the table. There were more chairs than there had been the night before, courtesy of his bannermen. Sitting next to the map was a pitcher of wine, and Robb felt his eyes continue to drift over at the piece of metal. His throat felt dry, and what harm could one sip do?

But it was a slippery slope, and if Robb drank every time he was distressed during war, he'd end up like the late Robert Baratheon, drinking and whoring his way to an early grave.

He was standing there, still staring at that pitcher, lost in his own thoughts, when Rose entered the tent. As soon as he saw her, his eyes widened. "Rose-" he began.

"I wanted to apologize for kissing you in front of your men," she interrupted.

Robb blinked in surprise but said nothing, so she continued. "You've been a wonderful host, and a great friend, and when I didn't see you after the battle, I assumed the worst, so I-" she forced herself to take a breath. "I thought you were dead. When I saw you, I was just so happy, that I-"

"I understand," Robb replied.

That seemed to take a weight off her shoulders. She relaxed. "You do?"

Robb nodded. "Absolutely."

"Thank the seven," she sighed out. "I was afraid I might lose you as a friend."

That stung a little. When she kissed him in front of the entire damn army, Robb had assumed there was something... more between them. Something further than friendship.

Robb gritted his teeth and nodded, ignoring the lump in his throat. If she was going to flaunt herself in front of half the North, she should at least have the decency to not be a flirt. "So what are you saying?"

Rose took a deep breath. "I think we should be careful not to let what is between us get... out of hand. You are betrothed, and I don't want your men to resent you."

"I understand." Just a small lie.

"Good."

They fell silent, avoiding each other's eyes.

"Did I tell you about the battle yet?" He asked, seeking to break the silence.

Rose shook her head. "Only vague details from one of the soldiers."

"We ambushed Jaime Lannister's men in the Whispering Woods, as planned. We actually managed to capture him."

Rose's jaw dropped. "Did you really? He's one of the greatest swordsmen in the realm."

"And Tywin Lannister's son. His capture was a huge blow to the Lannisters. After the battle, we marched the men to Riverrun and broke the siege there. Tomorrow we'll be there."

"I've always wanted to see Riverrun," Rose mused. She had been quiet, listening to him talk, but he liked her little comments.

Robb heard footsteps approaching, and watched as a soldier walked by the tent flap. It occurred to him just how suspicious their talk seemed, two supposed lovers meeting in private. Any doubts people had about their relationship would be dispelled if they were seen together.

Thankfully, Rose seemed to have the same thought. " I should be getting to bed," she said. " I hardly slept last night, and if I don't go to bed soon, I'll end up passing out somewhere."

Robb nodded. "I ought to be getting to bed soon as well. The battle was exhausting, although that didn't stop Theon from whoring to celebrate."

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "That does sound like him. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Rose."

She turned and stepped out of the tent. Gods, why couldn't she be one of Lord Frey's daughters? It wouldn't be so much of a duty if she were.

Perhaps whatever Frey he married would be like Rebecca in their own sort of way. He couldn't dare hope for anything more, not with the possibility of his death waiting for him every time he went to battle, and not with a war on the horizon. Not even he could be that selfish.

* * *

**A/N: As promised, less cliffhangers in this chapter. If you reviewed this story and I didn't respond, I am so, so sorry. I honestly meant to respond to each and every one of you, but life gets in the way. For instance, I'd love to be asleep right now, but I made the mistake of purchasing a loud cuckoo clock. Every ten minutes, it goes off. Almost like... clockwork. Anyway here's the chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it! By chapter ten, things start to get dark. Enjoy the happiness while you can.**


	8. Turning Tables

Chapter 8: Turning Tables

Theon woke up in a cold, empty bed with his coin purse missing and a pounding headache. The whore he fucked last night had robbed him while he was sleeping off his hangover. He'd wring the bitch's neck himself... if he could remember what she looked like, or hell, what her name was. It had been a crazy night. The last thing he remembered was drinking that one last tankard of ale before heading to his room, the woman in tow. After that, everything was fuzzy.

He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. He was cold, the wind blowing against his bare chest. Wasn't the south supposed to be warm? Riverrun was just as cold as Winterfell, possibly even more so since they lacked the warm water piped through the walls. He never thought he'd ever admit it, but ever since they Winterfell, something had been missing from his life. A sense of home, he supposed. He was glad to be rid of Lord Stark, him and his disapproving glare whenever he caught Theon with his breeches around his ankles between some serving girl's legs, but he missed Winterfell, and he missed whenever Robb used to act like his friend (and though he'd never say it out loud, like the younger brother he never had), not like the harsh Northern lord he'd been in the several days that had passed since the battle of the Whispering Woods. When Robb used to stand outside in the pouring rain, pathetically shooting arrow after arrow at the target because he was too proud to ask Theon for advice, until at long last he'd turn and all but beg for tips to improve.

Theon stood up, stretching and cracking his back and wincing as the sun hit his eyes, making the headache worse. The first time he had gotten drunk, he stayed in bed until noon time, and threw up the moment he left his chambers. By now, he had long since learned that a hangover was best treated by food or more ale. Sometimes, more women.

At Winterfell, he might have checked in Robb's bedroom to see if he had eaten breakfast yet. Ever since they had left, Robb had been sleeping and eating very little. By now, Robb was likely up and speaking with his bannermen, making plans for battle and plotting their next move. More than anything else, the men were waiting for the Lannister's next move. All of the realm held their breath on the newly crowned King Joffrey. The boy king had the power to plunge Westeros into war, or keep the continent unified. It all depended on what kind of king he was.

* * *

What were the odds that he got up just after breakfast had been put away? They were travelling with a bloody army, the cooks ought to have thought ahead to prepare some extra food in case the thirty thousand men outside the walls got hungry.

Alas, the cooks were not overly intelligent, Theon left the great hall with a rumbling stomach, and his headache was only getting worse.

The night before Theon's first battle, before the Whispering Woods, he would have sworn that battle would be the hardest part of war.

Now, he would say it was the waiting. The constant sitting around set Theon's teeth on edge. He was ironborn, practically born on a boat, and ships never stayed still for long. Even anchored, the boats would rock around with the waves, shifting gently from side to side. At least, he thought they did. It had been too damn long since he had last been on a boat.

Theon's headache was only getting worse, and the stream of noise in the great hall was only making things worse. It was as if every single person in Riverrun was going out of their way to make his life even harder.

Theon rubbed at his temples, trying to relieve the throbbing. He'd had a few headaches like these before. More often than not, it was because he had been drugged by some whore to be robbed. Did that woman slip something into his ale? Theon couldn't remember.

The only surefire way to get rid of a headache of this magnitude was something from the maester. Thankfully, Riverrun had its own, appointed by the citadel.

Theon stepped into the walkway. He was going to pay the maester a visit, and see if that grey rat had anything to ease the pain. Theon was sure the man had something. It was just a question of whether or not the maester was willing to give it to him. If not, the man would learn the meaning of House Greyjoy's words. We do not sow. The Greyjoys didn't accept gifts. If they wanted something, they took it.

* * *

The maester at Riverrun was much younger than the one that had camped with the men on they way to the Twins, but Theon hated him all the same. Whenever Theon had to pay a visit to Maester Luwin, the man would look with disdain at him, as if he could change what house he was born to. Some days Theon could have sworn Luwin was doing everything he could to make sure Theon didn't recover from whatever sickness he had caught.

This one was young, young enough to still have hair the color of sand, but marred with streaks of grey. When Theon entered the man's chambers, the maester turned and smiled at him.

"How can I help you?" he asked cheerfully, which only made Theon want to smash the man's head against the wall even harder.

"I've had a headache since I woke up this morning, and it's not going away."

The maester nodded and turned around, entering the closet where Theon assumed he stored his potions and ingredients, giving Theon time to look around the room. All of the bottles and quills on the man's desk were perfectly in place, without so much as a hair out of place. This was the kind of man who the iron born hated. The kind who spent more time writing down treatments and arranging his desk than he did fighting to stay alive.

The man stepped out with a small bottle in his hand. He held it out to Theon. "Drink this, and it should go away. If not, come back and I'll give you something stronger."

Theon held the bottle up to the light, gazing at the clear liquid skeptically. "Many thanks," he said, and turned to leave.

"Are you, by any chance, a Greyjoy?" The maester called after him.

Theon froze. "I am. Why does it matter?"

The maester turned to his desk, opening drawers and sorting through papers. "Last night I received a raven from the Vale for a Theon Greyjoy," he explained. "I assumed it was sent to the wrong castle, but then I saw the kraken on your doublet."

Theon looked down. He'd forgotten about that. Before he left Winterfell, he coerced one of the serving girls to sew it on. If he was going to fight and die in war, at least they'd recognize his cold, bloated body.

The maester turned back to face Theon, this time holding a letter. He presented it with a triumphant smile.

"I never thought I'd know who it was meant for," the maester said, but Theon was no longer paying attention, instead turning the parchment over in his hands. The back was sealed in a gold wax, a diagonal cross emblazoned with nine stars. The sigil of house Templeton

He was practically shaking with excitement as he tore it open and scanned the words.

Oh. Oh yes, oh yes yes yes.

Theon turned and began to walk out of the room. This was exciting news, and he couldn't afford to waste time.

"Wait, my lord! You forgot the potion!"

Theon looked over his shoulder. "That's okay, I'm feeling much better," he said, and walked quickly down the hallway, leaving the maester to look at him, a puzzled expression on the man's face.

* * *

Rebecca wasn't wandering Riverrun like a wide eyed child, she was simply... exploring. She had only ever been outside the Eyrie once or twice, and she had never seen a castle outside the Vale before, except for when they crossed the Twins, but she had hardly seen that castle before continuing the crossing to the other side of the river.

Everything was just so new. Everything about the castle, the stones, the decorations, even the very feeling emanating off the stronghold was different from the Eyrie.

The Eyrie was made to be indestructible, the castle was built for protection and survival from a siege, paying little attention to the comfort of the occupants. Riverrun, on the other hand, was clearly made for defense, but just as clearly was built with comfort in mind.

Both of the castles were hundreds of years old, dating back to when the Andals landed in Westeros. Rebecca ran her hand along one of the tapestries hanging in the hall. It was like holding history between her fingers.

Behind her, approaching footsteps clicked against the stone floor, the sound bouncing along the walls. Rebecca paid it no heed. Nobody was going to bother her. Nobody cared about Rose Templeton. She was hiding in plain sight, a nobody, unrecognizable.

She felt a sharp, sharp stab of pain in her scalp, and her head was jerked back behind her, her face pointed to the ceiling. Someone had grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a face looming beside her.

"Were you even trying at all, Rose?" He asked, tilting her head to face him. Of course it was Theon. It was always Theon. "Or," he said, scarcely holding back his glee, "maybe I should call you Rebecca."

Her heart froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Save it for someone who might believe you. I just got a raven from the head of house Templeton. Do you know what he said."

Rebecca let out a yelp as Theon pulled on her hair again, forcing her to shake her head.

"He said that there never was a 'Rose Templeton.' Furthermore, he told me that the only Rose he knew was a servant at the Eyrie, whom he met while staying there to be present at the marriage of the Lord of the Vale's half sister." He paused, a grin widening across his face. "Robb's betrothed."

Rebecca tried to squirm out of his grasp, pressing her hand against his chest and pushing away. Every movement she made ripped at her scalp. "You're a madman," she said.

"Of course. Now, Ser Templeton didn't stop there. He said that the marriage never took place because the Lord's sister ran away. Her name was Rebecca Arryn, and she had long brown hair," he added, running his finger through one of her locks of hair.

Rebecca swatted at his hand. That much, at least, she could do. Theon only laughed. "I assumed you had just adopted the last name of Templeton, but as it turns out, they suspected the servant girl of helping the Lord's sister escape. They killed her. Hanged her from the castle walls, over the cliff, as I understand it."

Rebecca's blood child. "They killed her?" she asked, horrified. Rose hadn't even helped her escape.

"They sure did. So that left only one possibility." He smiled down at her. "You, my lady, are Rebecca Arryn," he declared triumphantly.

Rebecca tried vainly to kick her way out of his grasp. Finally, she gave up, going limp in his hands.

"Fine," she said. "I'm Rebecca Arryn. What does it matter?"

Theon pulled her closer, until his nose was in her hair. He was smelling her, Rebecca realized.

"I've never had a noblewoman in my bed before," he said softly. He was certainly grinning, or at the very least smirking. "Might be you could fix that."

Rebecca jammed her elbow into his stomach. He released her with a grunt, stumbling backwards, clutching his stomach. She took off, running down the hallway, ducking through corridors and passages, desperately trying to escape the heir to the Iron Islands. She could hear footsteps pounding behind her, more unsure than hers were. He couldn't see her, he was second guessing himself at every turn. If he could find her, he could catch her.

Rebecca dove behind a tapestry, hiding in the alcove of the wall behind it. Theon thundered by. He was panting, running as hard as he could to find her. She waited until his steps were distant, muffled by the castle walls before clambering out.

He had power over her. He knew her secret, and so she owed him. He would tell Robb, and then he'd have her imprisoned or worse.

She needed to tell Robb. If he heard her secret from her, he might be more lenient.

Might be.

Still, it was her best chance.

* * *

Robb had been given the room of honor for his stay at Riverrun. Part of it, he was sure, was because he was the grandson of the Lord of the Riverlands, but a larger part had to do with the fact that he had broken the siege of Riverrun, freed his uncle Edmure from Jaime Lannister's prison and smashed his host.

It was war now. Blood had been shed, and there was no avoiding it any longer. No suing for peace. Robb would return to Winterfell with his father and sisters (and his Frey bride), or he wouldn't at all. They'd make a stop at the Twins, he'd marry his betrothed, whoever she may be, and then they'd return home before her maiden's blood had dried from her thighs. And he didn't have a say in his own marriage.

Robb sighed and leaned back in his chair. After he married the girl, whose name he didn't even know, he'd be expected to father children, and then to rule the North, and on and on. He'd never rest, not until he was lying in the Winterfell crypts.

The door behind him slammed open. It seemed as though he couldn't even get rest now.

Robb turned around to look at the intruder. It was Rose. Something was off about her. She was breathing heavily, her hair messy.

"Rose," he said, rising from his chair. "What are you-"

"I have a lot to say and I don't have a lot of time to say it." She waited, but when he didn't respond, she continued. "My father was Jon Arryn. When he died, my stepmother took control and broke our betrothal."

Robb's brow furrowed. "But that would make you-"

"Rebecca Arryn," she finished. Robb clenched his fists. Damn that Lysa Tully! Rose (Rebecca, he corrected himself) could have been his! He would have had a powerful alliance, and a beautiful wife, one he knew and (though he didn't want to admit it aloud) loved.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked.

"Theon found out, and I think he means to send me back to the Eyrie." Her voice faltered. "Please don't let him send me back there."

Her eyes were such a lovely shade of brown, even when pooling with tears, how could he ever say no?

The door slammed open again, and Rebecca backed away away. Theon stood in the doorway, glaring at her.

"She's been lying to you, Robb," He spat out, his eyes still fixed on her. "She's not a Templeton at all. She's a-"

"She's an Arryn, I know. She told me just now."

"And what do you plan to do about it? If word gets out that she's a spy-"

"I am not a spy!" Rebecca butted in, scowling and clenching her fists.

"-If word gets out that she's a spy," Theon repeated, his eyes fixed on Robb, ignoring Rebecca. "We'll have a mutiny on our hands. Especially with the rumors circulating around camp that you two have been intimate."

"Rumors that you helped spread," Robb pointed out, his brow dropping to a scowl. Theon opened his mouth and closed it. Instead of waiting for him to say something, Robb continued, "She is our guest, Theon, and I won't mistreat her out of fear of what the men will think."

Theon shook his head. "That whore-"

"Rebecca is a noblewoman, and you will treat her with the respect she deserves. Do I make myself clear?" he asked, his voice rising.

Rebecca beamed up at him, but Theon's expression got, if possible, even darker. "As you wish, my lord," he said quietly, his voice mocking.

Theon wet his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth for the briefest of moments. He turned and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Rebecca wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, but all Robb could think about was how she just made a dangerous enemy.

* * *

**A/N: We're finally getting somewhere. Thank you for everyone who reviewed or followed or pm'd me. It always makes my day when I hear from readers. Enjoy this chapter! I'll be posting the next one shortly, although I will say there is some (honestly it's kind of a lot) adult content. I'll be back in a few days with the next chapter!**


	9. Just One Of Those Days

**A brief warning to all readers, this chapter contains adult content. I have changed the rating for this reason.**

Chapter 9: Just One of Those Days

In hindsight, Rebecca should have known everything was too perfect. She didn't have to go by that horrible name any longer, Theon no longer had any control over her life, and Robb hadn't sent her away to the Eyrie like she thought he would.

Rebecca climbed out of bed and yawned, stretching her back. Gods, it had been ages since she had last slept in a bed like that. Not since she left the Eyrie. Ever since then, she'd had to sleep on mattresses that might as well be made of stone for the comfort they gave.

But not anymore. She was Rebecca Arryn, and everyone else had best start treating her like it.

Rebecca pulled on a red and blue dress, this time one of the Lord Tully's daughter's from when they were young. With sickening feeling in her stomach, she realized that she could be wearing Lysa Arryn's dress from when she was young. Rebecca checked to make sure there wasn't a hole in the back for where the tail would go.

The hallway was empty, and for a moment, Rebecca wasn't sure where she would go. She would go to Robb, he was great company and although she would never admit it to him, she was rather infatuated with him at the moment, but she had already promised herself that they wouldn't do anything about it. Robb was betrothed to his Frey, and when the war was over, he'd go to her, they'd marry, and before the wedding feast was over, his Frey would be carrying the heir to Winterfell in her belly.

Rebecca wouldn't be around to see that. She wouldn't toast Robb at his wedding or help undress him for the bedding. She wouldn't hang around long enough. The next chance she got, she was going to leave, find a new court where she could watch her liege marry another without having a mental breakdown.

Still, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and it was a beautiful, beautiful morning. She wouldn't spoil it by dwelling on the events to come. She'd enjoy herself. The future could wait.

Rebecca decided to go for a walk around the castle. The day before, things hadn't ended nearly as well as she hoped today would, culminating in a mad dash to escape the Greyjoy, and finally ending with Robb dismissing Theon from the room.

Hopefully, things would end better. She'd stay outside, along the thick walls and beside the guards, with the wind blowing her hair over her shoulder.

Rebecca stepped out of her room and walked down the hall to the battlements. Along the way, she passed by the Great Hall. On almost any day, the hall was packed, filled with Northern bannermen and Riverlords alike. Today, only a few people sat there, speaking in hushed whispers. They all seemed distressed about something, their brows creased and their eyes worried.

Perhaps they lost a battle... No, that wouldn't make sense. The bannermen hadn't been planning much, they were waiting to see what the Lannisters would do in response to the battle of the Whispering Woods.

Rebecca pushed the thoughts of the people out of her head. Whatever they were worried about, it was likely no concern of hers. If she had learned one thing from the Lysa's reign at the Eyrie, it was to mind her own business.

She stepped out onto the wall. It was nothing like the Eyrie, where the walls had no place to walk, and were breathtakingly high. She liked the difference. It felt... it felt like it was home.

She looked out at the water beneath her, the steady flow of the river pushing thousands and thousands of gallons of water past her. If she fell in, she would be swallowed up in seconds, dragged to the bottom and pushed all the way to wherever the river ended. The fact that she was a lord's daughter meant nothing to the river. If she fell in the water, she'd drown. And life would go on. The war would rage. The river would flow. The wind that threatened to blow her off the battlements would blow.

She was so focused on the motion of the water that Rebecca didn't see the Tully soldier until she bumped into him. They both stumbled, and he wrapped his hands around her wrists.

"Pardon me," she said.

"Be careful," he said gruffly, releasing her once she'd caught her balance. "On a nice windy day like today, you could be walking along the small, minding your own business, and a gust will swoop in and knock you into the courtyard." He glanced over his shoulder. "Or into the river."

"I should have been watching where I was going, my apologies."

The man grunted. "What are you doing out here today, anyway? All the other lords and ladies are planning and offering their condolences to Lord Stark."

For a moment, Rebecca beamed. It had been so long since anyone other than Robb had called her 'lady.' But soon her brow furrowed with confusion. "Condolences?" She asked.

The wind picked up, blowing the leaves from the trees and scattering them across the water. It was a dull roar in her ears, and she couldn't hear what the soldier said, only watched his lips move.

"I didn't catch that," she said, raising her voice to compete with the wind.

"I said, 'Haven't you heard? The old Lord Stark, Lord Eddard is dead. Killed by the new King Joffrey."

The soldier continued, but Rebecca had stopped listening. She needed to be there for her friend. Even if all they could ever be was friends, at the very least a friend would be there for another. After all, Robb would have been there for her if he had been around when Jon Arryn died.

Rebecca turned around and ran along the wall, ignoring the soldier's shouts to be careful. I need to find Robb, she thought. Even if he was going to marry some woman neither of them knew in a few months, she had to be with him. He needed someone. Even a friend would do that.

* * *

Robb sat on his furs, his hands clasped on his lap, his head bowed down to stare at them. The raven arrived early in the morning, before the entire castle had risen. Only a few souls were awake at that hour, and Robb hadn't read the letter until later, after the sun had cleared the horizon and the cock crowed in the yard.

By then, his father's body was cold, and the man's head rested on a pike on the walls of the Red Keep. After that, everything had escalated so quickly. He felt disconnected, like he was watching someone else move his body for him. By nightfall, he was a king.

His father hadn't even been dead for a full day, and Robb had already claimed a throne, something that the honorable Ned Stark had refused.

Robb's eyes burned. His father was dead. His sisters were captives. Joffrey, the little shit of a king, was in complete control of the seven kingdoms. Joffrey, the bastard king, fathered by his uncle.

He would give up his newly gained crown in an instant if it meant he could have his father alive and sisters safe. If it meant he could go home. If it meant he wouldn't have to marry his thrice damned Frey.

Three knocks on his chamber door brought him back to the present. Robb wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. "Who's there?" He said gruffly. Thankfully, his body didn't do anything embarrassing, like if his voice were to break. The crying king, his men would call him.

"Robb? It's Rebecca," came the reply through the door.

"I'm a little busy," he protested weakly. Busy? Was that honestly the best you could come up with?, he berated himself.

"Can I come in? I just want to talk," she replied.

Robb sighed. "Alright." He stood up and unlocked the door with a heavy click, and turned to sit back down, falling back on the bed with a heavy sigh. Rebecca stepped in the room.

"I heard you were crowned King in the North today," she said, smiling sadly.

Robb couldn't help but chuckle, though it was without humor. "It's just a title. Just more responsibility. I can't even look after my own family, how could I be expected to look after a whole kingdom-"

"Stop," Rebecca interrupted. "You'll make a great king. Your men already know that, that's why they crowned you, and it's not your fault your father died. It was Joffrey's fault, and there's nothing you could have done about it."

Robb shrugged. "I could have gone to King's Landing without an army at my back. I could have surrendered to Joffrey before he hurt my sisters."

"He would have killed your father anyways, and then if you were lucky, you'd be his prisoner, and he'd never let you leave. If you were unlucky..." her voice trailed off. You would have met the same fate, were her unspoken words. She shook her head and sat down beside him on the bed. "I didn't come here to talk with you about what you could have done and be miserable." She reached into her cloak and pulled out a wineskin. "I came to cheer you up," she explained.

Robb grinned, and before he knew what was happening, he was laughing. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

Rebecca shrugged, her face flushing, and looked at the ground. "At the Eyrie, sometimes I'd have to take food from the kitchens to be able to eat. I guess you could say it was good practice."

"I suppose so," he chuckled. Robb took the skin from her hands and uncapped it. He raised it to his lips, but then hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Have you ever had any?"

Rebecca shook her head, her brown hair bouncing from side to side. "Never."

He held it out to her. "Here's your first taste, then," he said.

Rebecca took it, but looked hesitantly up at him, her eyes wide. "Are you sure? I mean, I don't think it's very lady-like to drink."

Robb smiled. "I won't tell anyone if you don't," he said, winking conspiratorially.

Rebecca lifted the skin to her mouth, and took a swallow. Her eyes flashed open, and she bent over, covering her mouth while she let out a hacking cough. Robb rubbed reassuring circles on her back.

"Gods," she said, gagging and sitting back up, wiping her eyes, which had watered up at some point. "That's awful. How can you drink that?"

"Well you shouldn't have drank so much so quickly," Robb said, raising the the skin to his own mouth and drinking. It burned on the way down his throat.

Rebecca scowled at him. "It's a little late for advice now."

"It couldn't have been that bad," he said laughing.

"It was my first time drinking any sort of wine, you should have given me some kind of warning."

"Just drink a little bit at a time. I think this is some of the stronger stuff that the cooks keep for themselves," he advised.

Rebecca listened to him, slowly raising the skin and taking a much smaller sip. She grimaced, but didn't cough.

They talked, passing the skin back and forth and discussing whatever came to mind, always chasing each other away from the serious topics, speaking of themselves. By the time the candles in his room burnt out, the wineskin was considerably lighter, and Robb's head buzzed pleasantly.

Robb held the skin up to get a better look at it in the dark. "There's only enough for one more sip," he said.

He barely noticed her hands until she plucked the wineskin right out of his hands. "Hey!" he said, chuckling and reaching for it.

She pulled it out of his reach. "What? I brought it up, I think I should be able to have the last of it. Besides, you still owe me."

"For what?"

"You didn't warn me when I first had some."

"Are you still cross with me about that?" He said, and his fingers brushed the edge of the skin. Unfortunately, reaching forward put him off balance, his half drunken state making a simple task impossible. He pitched forward, landing on Rebecca and pressing her into the bed, their foreheads almost touching. The wineskin fell to the floor, forgotten.

She laughed again, softer this time.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his brow knitting itself in concern.

"You worry too much, Robb," she said, smiling up at him. "Or maybe I should say 'your grace.'"

Robb groaned. "Please don't."

"Your grace, your grace, your grace," she teased, shaking her head from side to side. Robb leaned forward and silenced her with his lips, covering her mouth with his.

Reluctantly, he pulled his head back. They looked at each other for a pair of heartbeats, their breath mingling together, their mouths only separated by a few inches. Before he could apologize and get up, she put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him back down until he was kissing her again.

And again.

And again.

His hands settled at her waist, and he lifted her up, carrying her over towards the top of the bed, setting her atop the pillows, his mouth never leaving hers.

He set her down and pulled away. "Rebecca," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. Her eyes were wide, like they had been when she took her first sip of wine in front of his, and her breathing was heavy. "We shouldn't-" he protested weakly.

Now it was her turn to silence him with her mouth. "I want this, too, Robb," she said, a smile spreading across her face.

He ran his hands up along her sides, stopping just before her chest. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his caution and honor sticking with him, even in his inebriated state.

"You don't have to ask," she whispered, her lips tickling his ear, and placed her hands on his, leading them up, up to her breasts. She let out a soft gasp, and Robb felt himself stiffen underneath his breeches. He began to knead them, gently at first, but with a growing need.

"I can't help it," he chuckled. "It's a force of habit." Rebecca arched her back away from the bed, reaching for the laces on the back of her dress. She couldn't seem to untie them, and Robb huffed impatiently. "Let me," he said, and rolled her onto her stomach, loosening the knots.

She turned her head over her shoulder to watch him work. "You look fierce," she whispered. "I like it."

At last, the ties were free, and Robb slowly pulled the back of her dress open, her back bare to him. She turned over and grabbed his hands, her eyes blinking rapidly. "Wait," she said. She bit her lip and looked away, her face flushing. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I've never done this before."

Robb smiled and kissed her, almost chastely, if one could overlook her state of undress and the growing bulge in his trousers. "Want to hear a secret?" he asked. Rebecca nodded, raising her arm to hold her dress against her chest. Robb leaned in until his lips were brushing the curve of her jaw, just under her ear. "Neither have I," he whispered, and nipped at her earlobe.

She giggled at the contact. "I guess we'll learn together, then," she said. She sat up, her back against the headboard. "I think you ought to undress a little more," she said, blushing.

Robb fumbled with the laces to his breeches, and pulled them down, kicking them away. He lifted his shirt over his head and dropped it to the ground as well. He stood there in his small clothes, the outline of his manhood prominent against the thin fabric. He looked back up at Rebecca.

"Close your eyes," she said, a wicked smile on her face.

Robb groaned and shut his eyes. He could hear the sound of rustling fabric, and it took all of his self control not to look.

"Can I look now?" he asked.

"Almost," Rebecca said softly, and he felt himself being lead towards the bed, setting him down where she had been sitting a few moments ago, the sheets still warm from her body. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm ready."

Robb slowly opened his eyes. Standing in front of him was Rebecca, completely and gloriously naked. Every scrap of clothing, from her dress to her shift to her small clothes, even her shoes, was lying on the floor at her feet. Robb felt his breath catch in his throat and his mouth grow dry. Her breasts were the size of apples, each tipped with a pink round nipple. Robb dropped his eyes, taking in the dark curls between her legs. His cock throbbed angrily just by looking at her. There was so much bare skin, every single part of her was open and visible for him. She twirled around for him, her hair swinging in a wide circle around her shoulders. A flicker of heat curled deep in his stomach.

When she turned back to him, she was breathing heavily, and Robb couldn't quite catch his breath. "Come here," he said huskily, barely recognizing his own voice, and pulled her into his lap. He ran his lips along her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her chest. Her breath caught when he ran his tongue over the pink tip of her breast, and she let out a soft moan when he took it into his mouth. He rubbed his thumbs over the nipples, kneading her bosom and pulling himself back up to look at her. Her head was lolled backwards, her mouth open in a silent oh. He leaned forward and sucked a dark spot on her throat, feeling her pulse beat even through her skin.

He set her down against the bed, her arms locked around his neck and her knees at his hips. He ran one hand down from her chest to her stomach, taking his time and enjoying the gasps she'd release every time he'd touch an especially sensitive spot on her.

She wound her hands in his hair, and he kissed down to her navel before looking back up at her, making eye contact over the swell of her chest. He trailed his fingers down to the folds between her legs, and slipped a finger inside of her. She moaned, and Robb placed a kiss to the underside of her breast.

"Gods, you're wet," he breathed out, pushing another finger, pushing deeper and deeper into her. "Do you like this?" he asked.

"Yes," she whined out, tightening her thighs around him. "Just like that." He curled his fingers upwards, stroking her and spreading her open, rubbing the nub of flesh Theon had told him about. She moaned, and he slid his fingers out, pushing forwards and backwards into her.

She peaked with a sharp cry, her fingers tightening in his hair so harshly he would have winced, but the pain was different in the bedroom, more welcome, a pleasure even. She pulled his head up, and met his lips with hers. "I need you," she pleaded, her face flushing red, and Robb swallowed. He was painfully hard, still wearing his smallclothes.

He climbed over her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. The tip of his cock nudged her wet folds, and he groaned. It took all of his self control not to thrust into her then and there.

Instead, he went slowly, pushing forward gently, an inch at a time, until he reached her maidenhead. Gods, she had been wet around his fingers and she was wet around him now.

He pushed deeper as gently as he could, breaking through her cried out and tensed, her hand tightening on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered, planting kisses along her neck and chin until she started to relax. "I'm sorry."

She cupped his cheek and kissed him, and Robb took it to mean she was ready to continue. He thrust forward tentatively, still wary of Rebecca's discomfort, and groaned. No wonder Theon spends every coin he has on whores.

But this girl is no whore. She's Rebecca Arryn, and there was no other he'd rather be inside. Not even Jonquil, the legendary woman of Sansa's songs. Not even the Maiden in the flesh.

He thrust in and out, and after a few minutes he was breathing heavy, and Rebecca was making the noises she made earlier, the moans that made him feel more like a king than his crown did.

Maybe it was the wine, and maybe it was the fact that it was his first time, but Robb's thrusts were growing careless and ragged, pushing as deeply as he could, with Rebecca working her hips to meet him. He wasn't going to last mmuch longer, and his only coherent thought was to bring Rebecca to her peak before he reached his. He put his hand between them and rubbed the nub of flesh. Her moans grew even louder, and he silenced her cries with his mouth.

Robb felt her ripple and clench around him, and he let himself go, spilling himself into her with a low groan. He fell forward, his arms barely keeping him from falling on top of her, panting against her temple.

"Rebecca," he whispered as his cock still pulsed inside of her. He moved himself to rest his forehead against hers. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she responded, pressing her lips to his in a chaste kiss, chaste, even as his seed spilled out of her.

Robb rolled over, his manhood slipping out of her. He pulled her against him, her chest pressed against his side and one of her legs cocked moved his. He kissed her again, just as softly as she had before.

She blinked, her eyelids fighting to stay open. He pressed his lips to her hairline. "Sleep now," he said, and watched her as she yawned and let her exhaustion take over, until her breathing slowed. He watched her like a wolf watching his mate. She was his, and he was hers, and he wouldn't let any harm come to her.

* * *

**This is literally the single longest thing I have ever written in my entire life. And it's about sex. What does that say about me? Everything. Enjoy.**


	10. Slippery Slope

**See, this chapter right here is what happens when you read something written by a psychopath**

Chapter 10: Slippery Slope

Rebecca woke to a dull throbbing pain between her legs, and a splitting headache. There was an awful taste in her mouth, and gods, did the light always hurt so much?

There was someone (or something) behind her, pressed against her back. Rebecca turned her head to see Robb, his mouth open slightly and his breathing still steady. And he wasn't wearing a shirt. Or pants, for that matter.

She rolled over to face him. "Good morning," she whispered, smiling and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

His eyes slowly opened, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. She yelped and put her hand against his chest. "Be careful," she said. "I'm still sore."

"Sorry," he whispered. He rested his hand on her leg, and they lay there, staring at each other. Eventually, Rebecca knew she'd have to get up and go about her day.

"I should return to my chambers," she whispered back, trying to muster her courage to stand up. She had been naked before him not a full day ago, how different could it be? Surely she could put on her clothes and leave with some small shred of her dignity left.

Rebecca rose unsteadily, the covers falling away from her chest. She took a shaky breath, and covered herself with her arms. His eyes were on her again, no longer looking at her face, and his mouth hung open. "I would appreciate it if you were to look away," she said, smiling at him.

Robb shut his mouth and nodded, averting his eyes. "You know, I meant it last night when I said I loved you," he said, raising his gaze to meet hers once more.

Rebecca's heart was pounding in her chest. She wasn't wearing anything, maybe he could see it, see the twitching underneath her breasts and see her emotion for himself. "I meant it when I said I loved you back," she admitted. She raised a hand to stroke his cheek. "But the gods were cruel. You were meant for your Frey girl, and I…" she swallowed. "I don't know what I was made for."

Robb took her hand and moved it to his lips, kissing her fingers, the knuckles, the back. "It doesn't have to be this way," he said softly. "The gods may make our destiny, but it's still ours to change as we see fit."

"I don't-"

"You could be my wife, Becca," he said. Becca. Perhaps it was her new nickname. A name only for Robb to say. He dropped to his knees and kissed her wrist, working his way up her forearm. "You could be the Lady Stark." Kissing up her arm, past her elbow. "Would you like that?" he asked as he kissed her bare shoulder.

"Of course I do," she said, and he rose to kiss her on the lips. She pressed her palm against his chest. "But I don't want to be the reason the Freys desert you. I don't want to be the reason you lose the war."

Robb laughed and pulled her into a hug, squeezing her against him. "With you by my side, I could never lose. I'd rather face a thousand defeats than lose you. Rebecca Arryn," he said, his voice growing serious. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she all but whispered. "Yes, of course I will." We follow our hearts, wherever they take us, no matter how painful. "When will we be wed?"

"Now, if you'd allow it." He grinned sheepishly. "I know it's not exactly the best time, with the war and all, but we could wait until we go back to Winterfell, if you'd like."

Rebecca pressed her lips against his. "I'll marry you anywhere, just so long as I can be with you."

"Can you walk?" he asked, and she flushed. "I mean, you were in pain earlier, and-" he stopped himself before he could get any further. His face was turning a shade of red.

"I think I can."

"I'll carry you to the sept, if you need it."

"I need to get my dress first," she pointed out. They both looked down at the pile of clothes from the night before, torn off their bodies in a hurry and scattered across the ground, wrinkled and poorly folded. "I think perhaps it might be best if I go back to my room and change," she decided.

Robb nodded. "I'll be waiting for you in the Sept," he said. "We'll be married before noon."

Rebecca smiled. "I won't be long."

* * *

Rebecca hummed a tune she could vaguely remember as she walked down the hallway, swinging her arms as she walked. She only hummed when she was truly happy. She was going to marry Robb. That alone was more than she had dared hope for.

And she was going to be Queen! Oh, Lysa Tully wouldn't dare even speak an angry word to the Queen in the North!

Perhaps these weren't the ideal conditions she would have wanted to be married in, leaving the bedchamber of her soon-to-be husband after staying the night, but there was nothing she could do about it, and she certainly wasn't going to let them ruin her happy day. This was her first time being married, and hopefully her last. She'd share only Robb's bed and bear only Robb's children.

She'd sit at his side in council meetings and offer her input, poor though it may be. She'd wait for him nervously after every battle, praying for some sign that he hadn't died. When they won the war, they'd travel back up North, to Winterfell. Maybe by then she'd be with child. She'd give Robb a son and heir with auburn hair and blue eyes and they'd sleep next to each other, with her back against his chest as they watched their child's chest slowly rise and fall until her eyelids grew heavy and sleep took her as well.

Rebecca reached for the handle to her door. Before she could open it, a heavy object hit her in the side of her head. The ground raced up to meet her, and her vision turned black.

* * *

Theon took a shaky breath in and let it out. What the hell did he just do? Rebecca was a ward under the protection of his king. Robb would have his head off for this. No king would tolerate the murder of one of his subjects. Unless...

Theon dropped the candlestick, now stained with a bit of red, and fell to his knees beside her. He pressed his fingers into her neck and waited. Finally, he felt her heartbeat.

Theon released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and fell back on his knees. She was merely unconscious, not dead. Nobody's head would roll for this. Unless she woke up and remembered.

He was fairly certain she hadn't seen him, he had only seen her a few seconds earlier, finally catching her alone. All he could think about for a few moments was how much of a bitch she had been, and how she'd made him look like an idiot in front of Robb, who was practically his younger brother. It had only been a moment that he let his anger take over his actions, but it had been enough time for him to slam her in the back of the head with the candlestick sitting on the table he was passing. It was still burning when he picked it up, he realized as he ran his thumb along the blistered skin of his palm.

"Shit," he whispered to himself. Maybe she hadn't seen him, didn't and wouldn't know who had hit her. But he couldn't take that chance.

He rose to his feet and looked to each side. The hallway was clear. That was a blessing, at least. He really only had a few options, none of which were very good.

He could simply leave her like this and hope she forgot. That seemed to be the simplest. Then again, perhaps Robb would be so angry he'd investigate her attack until he found the culprit. The boy seemed infatuated with Rebecca of late. Theon wouldn't put it past him to make finding her attacker his personal mission.

He could finish the job. Take out the knife Lord Stark had given him on his sixteenth birthday and cut her throat. Theon reached into his tunic and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. He carried it around with him, always, in case something like this ever happened.

Killing Rebecca, as satisfying as it may be, would be fruitless. It would be messy, and he'd have a dead body lying in the middle of Riverrun. If the Arryns found out that Lady Rebecca had been murdered under the protection of the Starks, the Vale may well turn from neutral to hostile in the blink of an eye. The knights of the Vale would make all the difference in the fighting.

He certainly wouldn't be allowed to leave for the Iron Islands, as Robb had given him leave, if a body was found at Riverrun. In fact, it may cause suspicion to fall on him. He needed to rid himself of Rebecca, and he couldn't kill her.

Ideally, he'd take her with him. Find some inn on the way to the coast and leave her there. But then there was nothing to stop her from running back to Riverrun and telling Robb what happened. By then, Theon would be a king in his own right, and the right to execute him would no longer be Robb's. Still, Robb's hatred would not be pleasant.

There had to be something else, a way to give Rebecca to someone who wouldn't allow her to leave. Who hated Rebecca almost as much as he did? The answer came to him almost at once. There was one other way. It would require some degree of stealth and speed, but it wasn't impossible.

He'd need to leave immediately to make it, but he could do it.

Theon knelt to the ground beside her and picked her up, heaving her over his shoulder like a bag of flour. "You're going home, Rebecca," he whispered into her ear. He started to walk down the hallway, towards the stables. From there, all he'd have to do is get out of the castle with a horse, and he'd be all but home free. "I'll bet your aunt will be quite happy to see you again." He could easily ride to the Vale, drop her off with the nearest house loyal to the Arryns and make it to the Iron Islands still on time. Hopefully Rebecca would wake up before long. He wanted to see the look in her eyes when she realized that fucking with Theon Greyjoy was the biggest mistake she ever made

* * *

**A/N: So finally the story is getting somewhere. This chapter is shorter than most, but I'm trying to write more overall, so I think the next chapter will be longer. Thanks for reading. Sorry for the increasingly dark chapters ahead. **


	11. Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter 11: Out Of The Frying Pan…

Rebecca's head hurt, not like when she'd had too much to drink, but rather like the time she'd fallen and hit her head against her father's desk, more of a pain in the side of her temple than a headache. Everything was shrouded in darkness, and her arms were over her head. Something pressed against her chest. She felt something sticky along her hairline, and when she tried to feel what it was, she couldn't move her hands. Every time she tried, her other hand would move with it, and both her wrists would hurt.

She became dimly aware that she was moving up and down, not unlike the rocking of a ship on the waves. Every time she'd move up, she would get hit in the chest.

She was lying down, she realized, draped over something like a pair of clothes hanging out to dry. "I can't move my hands," She gasped out. Gods, what she wouldn't do for a glass of water. It felt like she'd eaten a handful of sand in her sleep.

She heard someone chuckle to her right, a man by the sound of it. "That's because they're tied together," he said. Not just any man, Rebecca thought grimly. Theon. There was no one else in the world whose grin she could imagine without so much as looking at him, his head cocked to the side, one side of his mouth lifted upwards. Rebecca's fists tightened.

"Why are my hands together? And why can't I see?"

"All very good questions. I blindfolded you so you won't do anything stupid. Don't worry, though. You get to go home!" he chimed, making it sound as though she ought to be excited. "Back to the Eyrie! Back to whichever of the seven hells your parents pulled you from."

Rebecca's blood froze. "You're joking," she said shaking her head. "Where am I?"

"We're crossing the Trident soon. Maybe an hour or so. You might get a little wet."

Rebecca shook her head. "This can't be happening," she muttered to herself. She tried to wriggle to the side until she finally collapsed from exhaustion, slumping forward. She kicked her legs forward.

"It is happening, and don't do that, you'll scare the horse," was all Theon said.

"Please don't do this," she begged. Her heart was pounding. "Robb will give you whatever you want, just bring me back-"

"What if I want you gone?" he interrupted. Rebecca fell silent. She could picture him grinning even more, looking over his shoulder at her limp, bleeding form. "What if I want you as far away from him as possible?" She could picture him running his eyes along her body. "You're a lot more trouble that you're worth. And don't try to convince me otherwise, when you talk I start to get a headache and I'm still considering heaving you into the river with a rock tied to your feet and riding back to Riverrun before anyone notices I was gone." She could picture it, Theon tying her feet together and rolling her into the waves, with maybe a balled up piece of fabric in her mouth to silence her cries. He'd step back and wipe his hands on the sides of his breeches with one of his damn grins on his face. Nobody would ever find her, she would be pushed out to sea and never heard from again.

Rebecca took a deep breath and gathered her courage. "So what's your plan? Hike all the way to the Eyrie and hand me to Lord Robert, then ask for a reward? If anything they'd take off your head. I don't imagine they'd take kindly to some Ironborn treating the castle like his own," she spat. She can almost see him in her mind's eye, nearly falling off his horse with shock at her audacity to speak against him, his eyes narrowed and fists clenched around the reins.

"No, I suppose not. You don't seem to fully grasp why I'm doing what I'm doing. I don't want reward and I'm not going to make sure you get home safely so your mother-"

"-Stepmother," she hissed.

"-can send you off unharmed to marry the next highest bidder. You'll have to worry about that on your own." His voice was calm the whole time, even after being interrupted. He wouldn't have turned to glare at her. No, he probably wasn't even looking at her, more interested in the road and the horse's footsteps than her.

"Why would you go through all this trouble if not for money?" There was one other reason, a more powerful motivation than even gold, but she refused to think that even Theon would descend to that level.

"Because, Lady Arryn," he said, his voice changing briefly to a mocking tone as he said her title. "You are a damned pain in my arse. But, since I have the basic decency not to murder you in cold blood, I'll have to leave you with the first man I meet who is loyal to house Arryn. Or," he added, and Rebecca could picture him cocking his head to the side, a sly grin spreading across his face. "One who claims to be loyal. I don't much care for the technicalities."

Rebecca struggled again to try to wriggle out of her bonds. "Robb will make you pay for this!" she shouted.

"Why would he care? He won't even know you're gone."

"He's going to make me his queen, and you'll be my subject."

Theon laughed. Rebecca could picture him pitching his head back and closing his eyes, letting himself go in the moment and wiping a tear from his eye once he was done. "Did he? That does sound like him. I suppose I'm doing him a favor now. Lord Frey would not take kindly if Robb broke his betrothal to the Frey girl. Old man very well might piss himself with rage. Two birds with one stone, that's what I say. Now please, for the sake of the seven, the old gods, the drowned god, the red god, whichever you prefer, shut up."

Rebecca shut her mouth and gritted her teeth together. If she did what he said, he might start to let his guard down. Then it was only matter of getting away from this lunatic as quickly as possible.

They travelled along the road for some time. Rebecca couldn't tell how far they went, but she tried to count the steps. She got to several hundred before she lost count, the rhythmic steps of the horse throwing her off. It must have been close to an hour that they had been walking. She didn't even know how high the sun was in the sky. She could hear the sound of rushing water, like she heard at Riverrun, but much, much louder.

She sighed loudly, loud enough so he could hear. She could imagine his shoulders raising and his back tightening. "How much further? It's not exactly comfortable here," she whined.

She felt the horse stop and Theon dismount. Before she could react, he lifted her in the air and set her down with her back against the rough bark of a tree, her bound hands falling into her lap. He withdrew his hands and for a moment she was afraid he was going for a knife to cut her, maybe a rock or some other grisly weapon. But she felt his hands go to her temples and pull off her blindfold.

She blinked at the sudden influx of light. Theon wasn't smiling for once. Instead, he was wearing a look of grim determination. In his hands, he still held the strip of fabric that worked as her blindfold.

"Where are w-" Rebecca began, but Theon put the blindfold around her mouth, making a gag. She tried to speak again, but the only noises she could make were muffled nonsense. It didn't work so well as to keep her silent, but it prevented anything she said from being coherent.

"I can't believe I'm saying this to a woman, but you look a lot better with your mouth shut," Theon said, and lifted her up over his shoulder. Rebecca craned her head to look behind her, where Theon was walking. There was the banks of a massive river, even bigger than the one at Riverrun. For a short, terrifying moment, Rebecca thought Theon was making to throw her into the water.

But there was a ferry boat waiting on their side of the river, an old man hunched over a pole waiting for them, his mouth wide open at the spectacle. He wasn't going to kill her, he was going to take her back home. Rebecca couldn't tell which was worse.

"How much to cross?" Theon asked the man as he stepped onto the ferry.

The old man seemed to snap out of his stupor. He straightened. "A golden dragon for each passenger, m'lord."

Theon set her down on the raft none too gently and reached into his pocket. He pulled out two golden coins and set them in the man's palm. "You'll get an extra silver stag if you don't ask any questions about the girl," he added looking down at Rebecca, who glared back up at them both.

"What girl, m'lord?"

"That's a good man. Let's get moving. I don't want to get caught out on this side for much longer."

"As you wish."

With every stroke of the man's pole, pushing them further and further away from shore, Rebecca could feel herself getting further and further away from freedom. From Riverrun. From Robb.

The man shot a glance over at Rebecca, concern written on his brow. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, as if to say help me. Surely the man wouldn't be so easily bought that he'd simply let a man drag a girl off without asking any questions for a piece of silver.

As if sensing the man's hesitation, Theon pulled a silver coin stag of his coin purse and ran it along his fingers, catching the sunlight and reflecting it in the man's eyes. The man cast her one last look before returning his gaze to the pole. Theon remained grinning at her.

At last the boat reached the shore and set them on the land. Theon tossed his coin in the air in the general direction of the man and picked Rebecca up, ignoring the man expressing his gratitude. "Enjoy the gold," Theon muttered as he stepped off the raft. "May it buy you good whores for your bed or good food for your family, whichever you prefer."

* * *

He set her down against a tree when they were out of earshot and the river no longer in sight. Theon pulled off her gag so she could talk freely.

"What in the name of the seven was that all about?" she spat.

"I couldn't let him know who you were. If he freed you, you might have convinced Robb to knight that man. He would never have been content to take my coins and go about his life. It's better this way," Theon said, tutting. "Besides, I can't say I missed the sound of your voice."

"What's your plan now?" Rebecca hissed. "You're alone, without weapons or a horse or protection. The next traveler we see could easily rob us and leave us in a pool of our own blood."

Theon smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "Leave you lying in a pool of your own blood. I can still run away, remember?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Real chivalrous."

"To answer your question, I'm going to find the nearest town, and buy a horse. It's that simple."

"Nothing's ever that simple. Do you think the whole town will just look the other way when you walk in with a girl bound and gagged? Or maybe you think you can bribe them all."

"What in the seven kingdoms makes you think I'm bringing you?" he asked, a smile spreading across his face. Oh, that bastard was enjoying this.

* * *

Theon set her down against the trunk of yet another tree, tying the gag around her mouth once more before walking along the path to the town just out of sight. She shouted until her throat was sore, but it did her no good. Nobody could hear her, no matter how hard she tried. She was about to give up when she saw the rock on the ground.

It was sharp and hooked, like a dagger, perfect for her needs, lying in the grass not ten yards from where she was lying.

Rebecca looked to her left, then to her right. There was nobody in sight. Theon was likely still at the village just outside the forest, still arguing with one of the peasants about the cost of a horse. She pushed off the tree and fell on her stomach.

Slowly, she began to make her way to the stone, leaves and sticks poking her and sticking to her dress, her heart pounding. At any given moment, Theon might find her trying to cut herself free on a rock. He'd put a gag and a blindfold on if he caught her, and he'd never let her out of his sight until they reached the Eyrie. This was her only chance.

At last she reached the stone. Rebecca threw her arms past it and began to saw, cutting away at the thick rope that held her hands together. The strands frayed slowly, but she began to make progress. Her hands were starting to sweat. Every time she looked over her shoulder, she expected to see Theon approaching towards her, drawing a knife or a sword or whatever else he brought with him.

Finally, Rebecca cut her hands free. The sliced rope fell to the ground. She sat up and removed her gag, grabbing the rock and getting to work on the ropes at her ankles. The stone fit perfectly in her hand, like it was made for her.

She cut her bonds and lifted the stone to get a better look at it. The sunlight glinted off the surface. Rocks don't reflect, she thought, and wiped some of the dirt off the side with her sleeve.

It was a knife, with a thin layer of brown rust over the flat of the blade. Rebecca carefully ran her finger along the edge. The blade was still sharp, even after laying in the dirt for some time.

Rebecca rose and tucked the knife into her dress. She was armed now. If she saw Theon, maybe she'd bury the blade into his chest. But maybe she didn't have it in her to kill, even to save her own life. She'd save the knife, for when she needed it most. If Theon recaptured her, she could use the blade to cut herself free once he left her alone again.

Rebecca stood to her feet and began to run deep into the forest. She didn't know where she was going, all she knew was that she had to keep running, she had to run until she found someone who could help her, a Stark or Tully or even an Arryn soldier who would do as she said and take her where she needed to go.

A branch of a tree snapped by before she could react, slicing her just below her left eye and leaving a streak of pain across her face. When she pressed her fingers against where it hit, they came away bloody. Weeds grabbed at her feet as she ran, tugging at her legs and threatening to knock her off her feet and pull her to the ground. Her foot caught on a root, and she fell over, landing heavily on the ground. She frantically looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Theon chasing her or even one of Eon Hunter's men. She could picture being dragged back to Longbow hall in chains, forced to marry him in the Sept with her feet shackled together.

Rebecca clawed her way to her feet and kept running. She couldn't slow down. By now, Theon might have come back to find her severed ropes and he might be in the forest already, ducking through the branch she hit not long before him. He might find her blood on the branch. Maybe she wouldn't even be worth the effort to hunt down. He could be perched behind a tree, nocking an arrow on the bow he always carried around and drawing back the string, ready to bury an arrow in her back.

She ran faster than she thought possible, desperate to get away from the monster of a man named Theon Greyjoy. Finally, she reached a clearing and stopped to catch her breath.

She had no idea where she was, she realized, and her heart started pounding even harder. She was alone, in a land she didn't know, with a potential killer not far behind.

A flock of birds took off from the other end of the clearing, flying away from her. Where in the name of the seven was she? Theon took her east in order to cross the Trident. The road she left would take her either east or west, depending which way you travelled. Theon would have expected her to stay on the the main road, to stick to what she knew. She ran away from the road, into the forest. That meant she was either travelling north or south. If she was travelling north, she'd reach the Bloody Gates in a few days. From there, she could find her way back to Riverrun, assuming she wasn't captured by Arryn soldiers. If she was travelling south, she would reach the King's road. From there, she could find her way back to Riverrun. Either way, she could make her way back to Riverrun. Back to Robb.

Rebecca straightened and continued in the same direction she had be sprinting in. There was no way Theon could take any horse he brought with him into the forest. He'd be moving just as slowly as her. That meant she had a head start.

She looked over her shoulder for a moment, just to make sure he wasn't behind her. She kept running, until she slammed into something large and heavy.

Hands like shackles wrapped themselves around her wrists and held her in place. Rebecca snapped her head there, towering head and shoulders over her, was the single tallest man she had ever seen in her entire life.

He wore a yellow surcoat the size of a small banner, bearing three black dogs. Underneath was thick, scratched metal armor. His hands around her wrists felt like stone, and she would have better luck moving a mountain than freeing her arms.

Rebecca looked up to his face, concealed by a massive steel helmet, with only small holes to see through. Her heart began to pound.

"What's your name, girl?"he barked out at her in a deep voice.

Rebecca froze. Did he support Lannister or Stark? Or worse, maybe he was a bandit.

"What you got there, Gregor?" a voice came from beside her. She turned to see a weasley man wearing boiled leather step out from behind a tree, wielding a short sword. "Who's the girl?"

"She's not responding. What's wrong with you girl? Are you mute?"

"My name is Rebecca," she stammered, finally finding her voice.

"Rebecca, huh?" the weasley man asked. What's a girl like you doing so deep in the forest?" He lowered his voice. "Don't you know there are robbers about?"

"Silence, Chiswyck," the man in steel boomed. He lifted Rebecca off the ground, raising her closer to his eyes. He stared at her for a pair of heartbeats. Rebecca couldn't tell if she was breathing or not. "She's highborn," he announced.

"She looks like one of Lord Frey's whelps, if you ask me. Her dress has their house colors, too."

"Higher born than any Frey." Both of their eyes were locked on her now. Studying her. Rebecca squirmed and tried to pull her way out of his grasp, to no avail.

It was the man named Chiswyck who broke the silence. "So what are we going to do with her?" he asked, running his tongue over his lips hungrily. Rebecca curled her lip upwards.

The man Chiswyck called Gregor turned his head slowly, rotating deliberately until he was looking at him. "The rules are clear. We take any highborn prisoners to Lord Tywin. Even the pretty ones."

"Shame, though. Do you think, after he finishes questioning her, he'll give her back to us?"

There was a pause before Gregor answered gruffly, "We don't lay a finger on her until we know who she is. After that, it's up to Lord Tywin."

* * *

Rebecca's hands were tied again. The only difference was that now they were bound behind her back, and that she was no longer being lead by Theon. She was being lead by Gregor the Mountain, a fact which she picked up somewhere through the forest as the two men talked.

Instead of being hung over the side of a horse, she was slung over the giant's shoulder, shaking side to side with every lumbering step he took. For every step the Mountain took, his friend Chiswyck took three.

"How did you know she's noble?" the man asked, looking up at Gregor. His short sword was sheathed at his side.

"If you kept your eyes open," Gregor said, without looking at his friend. "You'd see for yourself. No lowborn girl would be stupid enough to run into this forest alone. Every peasant within ten miles knows the army is camped outside Harrenhal."

"How far are we away from Harrenhal? The sooner we get her to Lord Tywin, the better."

"Perhaps a day longer. We'll have to make camp soon," he grunted. The sun was brushing the tops of the trees, painting the sky a dark orange as it slowly lowered itself throughout the course of the day. And what a day it was.

"What are we going to do about the girl? She'll slit our throats in our sleep."

"Not if I can help it," he responded, and pulled Rebecca off his shoulder. She felt something slam into the back of her head, and her vision turned black.

Rebecca woke with the sun shining painfully in her eyes. She was on Ser Gregor's shoulder again.

The sun was close to the horizon, but it was rising rather than sinking. Men in red and gold armor walked past her.

"Welcome to the Lannister war camp, girl," Ser Gregor said, each lumbering step shaking her on his shoulder. "You slept like a babe. I didn't hear a peep out of you all night long," he remarked.

In response, she kicked him as hard as she could. He grunted, but otherwise seemed unaffected by the whole transaction. His chest was as hard as steel. Did he ever take off his armor. Probably not.

After a few moments of walking, he ducked into a tent, the flaps brushing Rebecca's head as they entered. All she could see was the opening and Gregor's back. "I found her running through the forest. She's noble, I know that much," Gregor said, and lifted her off his shoulder, dropping her to the ground at his feet.

Rebecca rolled around on the floor until she managed to get to her knees. Standing in front of her, just in front of a wooden desk in the center of the room, was an older man, perhaps the age of her father. His hair was silver, and he wore a doublet with a lion embroidered on the front. He leaned down to look her in the eye.

His eyes are green, she thought. He gave off an air of authority.

"Do you know who I am, girl?" he asked. Rebecca shook her head. "My name is Tywin Lannister. What is your name?" Rebecca dropped her gaze to the floor, unwilling to say anything. "Look at me," he commanded, much more forcibly than he had spoke before.

"She said her name was Rebecca," Gregor's voice came from behind her.

Tywin leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "Rebecca," he mused softly. "I've heard that name before."

Her father took her to King's Landing from time to time. Perhaps she met Tywin Lannister there while she was still very young. Maybe he wouldn't remember her.

"What have we here?" he asked, leaning in again until she could hear him breathing. His hands went to the necklace on her neck that she always tried so hard to keep hidden. He pulled it over her head. Rebecca tugged on the ropes, trying feebly to free herself.

He raised the necklace to his eyes, his brow creased. "What is it say?" Gregor asked, taking a step forward, so transfixed that he nearly stepped on Rebecca.

"As high as honor," Tywin read, his lips twitching upwards. "I know who you are, girl. You're Jon Arryn's daughter."

* * *

**A/N: It's been a rough couple weeks. Thanks for hanging in there. This right here is the new longest thing I have ever written. I no longer have to go around thinking about how I wrote about sex. Also, a round of applause for for keeping me motivated. It makes my day whenever you guys review or PM. The story is getting a lot darker than I planned when I started Chapter 1. Hang in there.**


	12. Into The Fire

**My author's note from last chapter made absolutely no sense whatsoever. I wanted to thank for his help, but somehow I jumbled up the words and didn't even manage a complete sentence. Here's the next chapter. Enjoy.**

Chapter 12: ...Into the Fire

The tent Lord Tywin had given her was larger than the one she had with the Stark camp, and the tents were red and gold, the colors of house Lannister. Rebecca sat with her back against the wall, her knees hugged up to her chest.

The tent flaps were open, but she could see the spears of the guards on either side of the opening. She was too highborn to let wander around whenever she liked.

Robb would find her. Even if she was in the center of the Lannister camp, he'd find a way to get to her. He could trade Jaime Lannister for her. But if the Lannisters found out about how close she really was to him, they'd never let her go. She'd just have to wait until they decided to release her on their own.

So she'd have to wait. That was fine by her. No war had ever been won or lost quickly. This was her own private war she was fighting, a war to get back to Robb. A war that she would win.

A servant entered the tent carrying a plate of food, a young girl with her light brown hair tied back in a braid.

Rebecca scrambled to her feet. The girl stopped a few feet away, her eyes wide. "Here is some food, my lady, in case you are hungry," the girl said, holding out the plate. The smell of cooked meat wafted by her nose, but she ignored it, that and the growling in her stomach. Gods, how long had it been since she last ate.

"Why am I being kept here?" She asked the girl, raising her chin in the air and clenching her fists. "I demand to speak with Lord Tywin this instant," she all but spat.

"My lady-"

"I am an Arryn, and when my brother, the lord of the Vale, hears of this, he'll take all your heads!"

"Please, my lady," the girl whimpered, and her dark brown eyes began to pool with tears. "Lord Tywin said he'd throw me to the dogs if he caught me talking with you, and I'm the only one who can take care of my little brother, without me, he'll starve or worse..." the girl was hyperventilating, and for the first time since she walked in, Rebecca realized just how young she was. She couldn't have been much older than ten years of age, too young to have even bled.

"Don't worry about speaking with Lord Tywin. When he decides to speak with me, he'll speak with me. If he asks, I'll tell him you were silent as a mouse."

The girl nodded and drew the back of her hand across her nose to wipe it. "Thank you, my lady," she said, sniffling.

The girl set the plate down on the small table in the side of the room. It was some sort of meat, with apples a. She curtseyed, and made to walk away.

"Wait," Rebecca called, and the girl turned back around. "What's your name?" She asked.

The girl hesitated for a moment. "Everyone calls me Emma," she whispered, and slipped out of the tent before Rebecca could ask any more questions.

Seven hells, did she really just scream at some poor little girl? What was the worst she had ever he done? She was just trying to provide for her younger brother. Rebecca sighed and sat down next to the food, wrapping a strand of her hair around her finger. Gods, was turning into Lysa Tully. The plate of food was next to her, and Rebecca was too hungry to ignore it any longer. She set the plate on her lap and tore into the food like an animal, no longer caring if she was being ladylike.

It tasted like venison, she realized after she finished eating. She straightened up and set the plate aside, wiping her mouth with a napkin. She wasn't going to look weak in front of the Lannisters.

She stood and walked to the entrance of the tent, taking a deep breath and stepping outside. Immediately, the two soldiers guarding the front of the tent walked in her way. "Don't go any further," the one on the right said, the only part of his face visible under his helmet being his thick black beard. "It's dangerous for a lady to be alone in a warcamp."

As if you're protecting me, she thought, clenching her fists. You're making sure I don't get away. "I need to speak with Lord Tywin at once," she said, raising her chin. She may be smaller than both of them, but she was higher born than either of them would ever be.

The one of the left snorted. He was clean shaven, and there was a long scratch along the front of his breastplate. "Lord Tywin is a busy man. He'll speak with you when he's damn good and ready to." Rebecca glared at him. "My lady," he added, mockingly, a cocky smile spreading across his face.

"I said, I want to speak with him," Rebecca hissed, crossing her arms over her chest.

The smile died on the man's face. "Did you hear what I said," he asked, raising his voice. The bearded soldier shot him a glance. "I said," he began, shoving Rebecca backwards back into the tent. "He'd speak with you when he's ready. Did you hear that?"

"Enough!" The shout came from neither of the soldiers. They turned behind them, and Tywin himself strode towards them, a dark look on his face. "She is the sister of the Lord of the Vale. Did you think that perhaps Lord Arryn wouldn't care that his sister was being pushed around by an unimportant swordsman? I can answer that myself, you weren't thinking."

"She was-"

"I saw what was happening. Just get out of my sight," he interrupted. The soldiers bowed their heads and stepped away from the tent, disappearing amongst the mass of men walking around the camp.

Tywin waited until they were gone and held out his hand to Rebecca. She took it, and he helped lift her up. His hand was rough, she noticed, worn with scars and years of battle. "The soldiers are getting restless," he explained. "The Stark boy is taking longer to defeat than any of us thought."

Rebecca struggled to hold back a smirk. "People tend to be underestimated because of their youth." She coughed. "Or their old age," she added, glancing at his silver hair.

"Perhaps," he answered, his brow furrowing. He sighed. "I suppose you're wondering why you're still here."

"You found out I who I was, why can't I go back home?" she asked. Going back to the Eyrie was probably the last thing she wanted, but it was an improvement from being a captive.

"You have to understand my position. This is very close to an all-out civil war. The last thing I need is for the Vale to join on the side of the Stark boy. If you were to be found dead in a Lannister camp-" he shook his head. "I'd be facing an alliance between the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale. Now I hear that Stark has sent Theon Greyjoy to agree to an alliance. I cannot afford that. I need to be making allies rather than enemies. I'm sending my son back to King's Landing, to rule as the Hand of the King in my stead, and you'll accompany him."

"King's Landing?" she asked. It was so far away from Riverrun. So far away from Robb.

He nodded. "It's the safest place in the Seven Kingdoms. You'll stay there until the war is over, as a…" he paused for a moment to think of the right word. "Guest, to ensure your brother stays out of the war. So long as he doesn't do anything stupid, you'll be treated well."

"And if he joins the war?" she asked.

Tywin's expression remained the same, but Rebecca could see a vein on the side of his head twitch. "You'll remain our guest," he answered.

"I'll remain your hostage," Rebecca corrected.

"Like I said," Tywin said. "So long as your brother stays out of the war, you'll be safe. While you're in King's Landing, say hello to my grandson."

* * *

Tyrion raised the goblet of wine to his lips and took a sip. No matter where they were, it seemed that the army could not get their hands on anything but pig-swill wine. If the Northerners had good wine, he'd seriously consider turning his cloak.

"You'll be going to King's Landing. To rule as acting Hand of the King in my stead," Tywin said, frowning down at his goblet. His father was not exactly subtle about his dislike of Tyrion's drinking habits.

"As the Hand of the King?" Tyrion asked warily. Tywin Lannister had barely trusted his son enough to manage the sewers of Casterly Rock, why would he trust him with the Seven Kingdoms?

"Until I return."

"What's the catch?" There had to be some sort of catch, otherwise Tywin wouldn't have offered it in the first place.

"There is no catch. All you have to do is safely escort Rebecca Arryn to the capital, and then you can worry about cleaning up this mess Joffrey created when he took Eddard Stark's head."

"That's all? Taking a girl to King's Landing?"

"She's the daughter of Jon Arryn, and the sister of Robert Arryn. If she dies, they may join the war against us. Besides, she's not to be trusted. She's hiding something, I can tell."

Tyrion poured more wine, and Tywin wrinkled his nose once more. "I'll have a harder time keeping Joffrey in line."

"He's just a few years younger than the Stark boy, and he's already leading an army." Tyrion finished the wine in his goblet, and reached for the pitcher, but Tywin moved it out of his reach. "All Joffrey wants is to have the respect of his men that Stark has from his men."

"I heard that he's the mad king reborn," Tyrion responded, sighing and sitting back in his chair.

"I've heard that you are a demon sent from the Seven Hells to bring about the downfall of house Lannister." He rose from his seat. "The smallfolk always exaggerate their stories."

"And if they're correct? How will I reason with the second mad king?"

"At the end of the day, Joffrey is just a boy. Being king is entertaining for him. Get him some new toy. Find a whore or something to distract him from ruining everything we've done to get us where we are today."

"And for the seven kingdoms? Is my goal to simply keep the kingdoms from falling apart?"

Tywin frowned, and he rubbed his chin. "You ought to be making allies, not enemies," he muttered softly. "We've burnt that bridge with the Starks. Joffrey's marriage to Sansa Stark will earn us nothing. Joffrey ought to marry a girl who can bring us an alliance. All kings need an heir, and any lord would be willing to send their men to help in the war if it meant their daughter would be queen."

"Did you have someone in mind?" Of course Tywin would have someone in mind. He wouldn't have suggested it in the first place if he didn't have a potential bride planned out.

Tywin sat back in his chair. "Rebecca Arryn, perhaps. She'd bring the Vale into the war, and ensure she would remain a hostage permanently."

"She's done nothing to deserve being forced to marry Joffrey. No girl deserves that."

"Perhaps you ought to marry him yourself. Have you found any other holes in my plans?"

Tyrion shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling. "It all depends on what Joffrey agrees to. If he's still pining for the Stark girl, all the political power in Westeros won't convince him otherwise."

"I have faith that he will agree to this," Tywin said, rising from his chair. He set the pitcher of wine back on the table with a dull clunk. "If he's difficult, simply remind him how quickly he'll lose the war without my support." He turned and left the tent, and Tyrion sat alone with an empty goblet, wondering if it was worth the effort to reach for more.


	13. Jonas 1:17

Chapter 13: Jonah 1:17

The Imp collected her from her tent early in the morning, before the sun had even risen and most of the camp was still asleep. He smiled at her apologetically, but said nothing. They both knew she had to go to King's Landing, one way or another, and Rebecca knew it was best that she go without making a fuss. It was better to go with her dignity intact.

That was a week ago.

The journey had been nothing compared to the hard road from the Eyrie. Even in war, the Lannisters traveled well. She never went hungry, never went cold, always had a horse to ride upon, but she was still in the jaws of the lion. If she did anything stupid, they would kill her without a second thought. Sister of Robert Arryn or not, one only had to look at the Targaryens to see what the Lannisters were capable of.

"We'll be arriving at King's Landing today," the Imp said. Tyrion, she corrected herself. She hadn't needed her courtesies in the Stark camp or at Riverrun, but that was because Robb hated titles. Here, in King's Landing, the people would be far less forgiving, especially with Joffrey as king. The Northmen, particularly Robb, were likely biased towards the newly crowned king, but she had heard plenty of rumors—rumors that he tortured his prisoners for sport, and that he would shoot crossbows at peasants who asked him for food.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion," she answered flatly. She could count on one hand the number of times he had spoken to her since leaving the camp.

"I know this seems like a punishment for you, but you should approach the city with an open mind. King's Landing isn't so bad of a place, and it will be a fine new home."

Rebecca nodded with false certainty. "I'm certain King's Landing shall be wonderful, and I will be heartbroken when I return to the Eyrie, after the war ends," she said, rolling her eyes when his back was turned. All she said were lies, of course. After the war ended, she would accompany Robb to Winterfell.

Tyrion opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and shook his head, kicking his horse onwards towards the city.

Rebecca sighed sadly. She didn't even have her good luck charm. Tywin hadn't given it back to her after he found out who she was. Maybe she wouldn't even have to wait until the war ended before she could return to Robb. King's Landing was a massive city, from what she'd heard. If she could simply escape the castle, she could make her way back to Robb. Robb's sister was in King's Landing as well, betrothed to Joffrey. Perhaps she could bring Sansa with her when she escaped. No girl deserved to marry a monster like Joffrey.

"There it is," one of the guards ahead of her called out, pointing to a gap between the trees, "the city of a million rats."

Rebecca followed his finger through the trees. Between them, half hidden by the trunk of an oak tree, she caught a glimpse of a massive city surrounding a red castle. It had to be King's Landing.

My new home, she thought, resentful, and perhaps a little bitter. Where she was going to stay for however long it took the conflict to be resolved, one way or another—unless she was freed, however unlikely that was.

How long was the damned war going to last, anyway? The war of conquest, when Aegon the Conqueror took over all of Westeros, only took about four years. How long would it take Robb take to win a war of independence? How long would she be trapped in King's Landing?

Tyrion looked over his shoulder, a small, apologetic smile on his face. Gods, she was going to die here.

She smelt the city long before she reached the gates. They entered through the Dragon Gate, and made their way up to the Red Keep. From the moment they entered the city, all Rebecca could see was filth. The soldiers passed through Flea Bottom, and she watched the peasants living in squalor as she passed. It was clear that their king did not care that the lived or died—did not care if they existed at all. It wasn't until the gates of the keep itself closed that she felt as though there was some degree of sanitation.

But there was an overwhelming sensation that she was being watched. Every guard she passed seemed to be making an effort to look inconspicuous, as though they didn't see her. Likely because they were ordered by someone important to watch her at all times.

"The Great Hall is just through here," Tyrion explained, hobbling along beside her. Behind both of them, she could hear the clicking of several pairs of boots, her escorts to ensure she didn't get lost. Her captors, more like. "You ought to meet the king before you settle in. The last time I saw him, he was being quite a brat. From what I've heard, power has gone to his head." He shook his head. "But he is my nephew, and if he's anything like his grandfather, he'll make a fine king."

They stopped at the oak and bronze doors leading to the hall, with two guards on duty. They nodded to Tyrion and stepped aside, swinging open the doors as they went. A carpet stretched all the way to the dais in the very back of the room, capped by an intricate metal throne, where, lounging across it as if it were a simple chair, something made for his pleasure, was a boy with blonde hair. Joffrey Baratheon. Joffrey Lannister, if Robb's men were to be believed.

Beside the throne, the Iron Throne, stood a blonde woman, and several knights in white armor. All of the knights had their swords unsheathed but relaxed, prepared to attack if need be. The blonde woman leaned up and whispered something in the boy's ear.

Tyrion began walking towards them, and Rebecca followed suit. As they approached the dais, she became aware of the men and women lining the hall, noble enough to be invited to court but not important enough to speak their opinions on the king's judgement. They leaned towards one another as she passed, whispering to each other. Just like back at the Eyrie.

She approached the base of the dais, just in front of the knights in white, and curtseyed, bowing her head respectfully. When she rose, the king was staring at her, taking her in a bored sort of fascination. His eyes were green, she noticed. Just like his mother's.

"My name is Rebecca Arryn," she said, glancing back at the queen. Queen Cersei had one hand resting on the edge of the throne, leaning against it slightly. Her emerald eyes were locked on her, gauging whether or not she was a threat. "Daughter of Jon Arryn."

"You're a long way from home, Lady Arryn," Queen Cersei drawled, pushing a strand of long blonde hair out of her face. "How did a lady of the Vale end up in King's Landing?"

"She was wandering around the Riverlands when she reached father's camp," Tyrion piped up, waddling up beside her. "She was lucky she found us when she did, gods only know what might have happened if the Starks found her first." Upon seeing her brother, Cersei's eyes narrowed.

Rebecca nodded. "I've heard it said that Lannisters make good hosts, but now I know for a fact. Lord Tywin was even kind enough to allow me to stay in the city until the war ends." The lie left a bad taste in her mouth, but she had no choice. Or so she told herself.

"Grandfather does not have the authority to offer you a place to stay here," Joffrey nearly shouted, rising out of the throne. "I am king, and I am the lord of King's Landing. I rule here."

"Of course you are," Cersei said, resting a hand on his shoulder. Joffrey remained glaring at Rebecca, his fists clenched at his sides. "Grandfather meant nothing by it. He couldn't keep her in the camps. She might have been killed."

Joffrey sat back down, placated but still fuming. He turned his gaze back to Tyrion. "What are you doing here, Imp?"

Tyrion coughed. "I've been trying to find an opportunity to bring that up. Could we possibly talk a little more… privately?"

Joffrey nodded. "Very well. Everyone out." The nobles lining the sides of the hall began to shuffle out of the room. Rebecca turned back to Tyrion.

"Could I have someone show me to my chambers?"

Tyrion smiled. "Of course. I'll have Bronn escort you. He's just outside the doors. He's got dark hair, dark eyes, and he's the only man with a sword not wearing Lannister armor. Just tell him I sent you."

"Thank you," Rebecca answered gratefully, nodding and turning around, making her way back outside the Great Hall."

Cersei turned to Tyrion as soon as the doors closed. "You got your wish," she muttered. "We're alone." She glanced at the Kingsguard standing beside the throne. "Mostly alone."

"It will do. Father has sent me to act as Hand of the King in his stead, until he is able to return to his duties. That likely won't be until the war is over."

"That's why you are here? To try to live up to father's reputation?" Cersei scoffed. "I expect you've been standing in the shadows for quite some time, especially with your size."

"And your kindness is spoken of throughout every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, sweet sister. I'm here to clean up the mess your son caused when he took Eddard Stark's head."

"Eddard Stark was a traitor, and he deserved death."

"From the way I hear it, you were going to send him to the Wall. What changed your mind? Did your merciful streak end? Or perhaps it wasn't your decision at all."

"I am the queen. What can you say you've done for house Lannister?"

Tyrion threw back his hands in defense. "I must admit, I can't say I've done anything great. All I've done is simply clean up yours and Jaime's mistakes before they could become so great that all of Westeros turns on us." She didn't respond, so he continued, "Stannis and Renly are readying their armies, and either one of them could easily take the city and end our reign. Father has trusted me to stop that. Joffrey plunged the Kingdom into chaos when he killed Eddard Stark, and now I can count on one hand how many allies we have. The noose is tightening, sister, and I'd suggest you start acting a little nicer to me. Some day soon I very well may be all that stands between Renly and Joffrey."

Cersei glanced behind her. Joffrey was sitting back on the throne, no longer paying attention, scratching absent mindedly at the blades lining the arm rests. Tyrion waddled past her, approaching Joffrey. "I'd suggest you get yourself fitted for a spike before it's too late," he said, looking over his shoulder. "As for you, dear nephew, it has been entirely too long since I've seen you. Wasn't it back in Winterfell?"

"What do you want, Imp?"

"Straight to the point, as usual. I remember Robert was the same way. Maybe even King Aerys as well, though I was too young to remember."

"I'm no mad king."

"Nor are you Robert. He at least had enough common sense not to behead the father of his betrothed."

"I don't need to be chastised from you."

"No but you should. The tides of war are shifting, and we very well may be on the losing side unless someone shakes some sense into you."

"We have the power of the West," Joffrey said, clenching his fists. "And I am the king. The other houses will soon join us."

"They will never join you. In case you haven't noticed, we're outnumbered. To the North, we're fighting the Starks and the Tullys. To the South, we're fighting Stannis and Renly, and now the Tyrells have cast their support for our enemy." He paused and let his words sink in. "We need allies, whether you think we do or not."

"We have the strength and wealth of the Westerlands..." Cersei began.

"Unfortunately, it's not enough. We can't win a war against the rest of the Seven Kingdoms without allies," Tyrion said, beginning to get frustrated.

"You say we need allies. What allies are there? Who would take sides with us that hasn't already joined our enemies?" Cersei asked, walking forward until she was between Tyrion and Joffrey.

"They should bow to me," Joffrey said to no one in particular, slamming his hand against the armrest of the throne. "I am their king!"

Tyrion ignored him, his gaze fixed on Cersei. "The Vale," he answered calmly.

Cersei raised her eyebrow. "Young Robert Arryn has Tully blood in his veins, the same blood as Robb Stark. Why would he turn on his cousin?"

"Because Robert Arryn doesn't rule the Vale. He may be the Lord of the Eyrie, but it's Lysa that makes the decisions."

"Why would that make a difference? She has even more Tully blood than her son." Cersei began to smile, more of a sneer, her upper lip curling upwards in a motion disturbingly similar to Joffrey.

"From what I saw when I was at the Eyrie, Lysa bears little love for her sister, the Stark boy's mother. If that's any indication of how she feels for the rest of her family, she won't be any trouble to convince to side with us at all."

Joffrey leaned forward, a wicked grin across his face. He and his mother could be twins, if it weren't for the age difference. "Yes, but Uncle, weren't you imprisoned by Lysa Arryn? How do you actually know anything about the Vale other than their dungeons?"

Tyrion balled up his fists. "I was talking to your mother. Be a good boy and sit quietly." Joffrey scoffed and opened his mouth, but a look from his mother silenced him.

Cersei looked back at Tyrion. "How would we convince Lysa to join the war?"

He smiled. "We'd need a marriage to solidify an alliance. Otherwise there'd be no guarantee they wouldn't turn on us."

"What are you suggesting, Imp?"

"I think you know what I'm suggesting," he replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I won't send my children off to be married to some lesser house," Cersei replied frowning and crossing her arms over her chest. "Myrcella is my only daughter, and I won't have her sold off for a political alliance. Not like I was," Cersei says, almost desperately. Her eyes show the fear and the pain she endured.

Tyrion nodded. "You won't marry Myrcella to Robert Arryn, correct?"

"Of course."

"Then I only see one course of action. We must marry Joffrey to the Arryn girl."

Cersei frowned. "The one who just came in?"

"What if I don't marry her?" This time the voice came from the throne. Joffrey's voice was cold, and Tyrion couldn't help but think of a serpent, coiled up and ready to strike. "Whose authority is it to decide who the king marries? Why should anyone but I decide who is to be my queen?"

Tyrion took a deep breath. "You may be king, but your throne is built on the backs of others."

"Just what is that supposed to mean?"

"I am only stating that the Iron Throne cannot muster enough men alone to defeat the Starks. Or the Tyrells. Or the Baratheons. And you can be sure that you can't defeat them all at the same time. If you don't marry her, the Westerland army will go home. Back to Casterly Rock. You'll have to deal with all of your enemies on your own."

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he could see a vein pulse on the side of Joffrey's head. "Who do you think you are, Imp? I ought to take your head!"

"Ah, that would seem to solve most of your problems. Alas, these are Lord Tywin's words in my mouth. Even if you do kill me, you'll still need to marry Rebecca Arryn if you want his support." He smiled, his face full of false apology. "Sometimes even kings have to make sacrifices." Joffrey's eyes narrowed, and Tyrion began to wonder if he had gone too far.

"What of Sansa Stark? Joffrey is betrothed to her," Cersei said quickly.

Tyrion shrugged. "She's the sister of the man you're at war with. Politically, she is of no use to us. Let her go free, trade her for Jaime, whatever will help our position. But you can consider the betrothal broken." Joffrey remained silent, fuming. "I will take your silence as acceptance. I shall inform Lady Arryn of her impending nuptials immediately."

Cersei nodded, but otherwise the courtroom was still. And silent. There was no noise at all except for the sound of his boots hitting the ground as he walked away. At any moment he expected to hear the sound of Joffrey's crossbow and feel a metal bolt between his shoulder blades.

He didn't relax until he shut the doors to the Great Hall behind him, letting out a deep breath. Bronn stood there, leaned against a wall and cleaning his fingernails, but straightened when he saw Tyrion approach. "How did it go?" he asked.

Tyrion shrugged. "I threatened the king. What's that old saying? Climbing into the jaws of the lion?"

"Something along those lines."

"Did you take Lady Arryn to her room?"

Bronn nodded. "That I did."

"Take me there. I have some explaining and a lot of apologizing to do."

**I updated! Sorry for the delays. I just posted a new story, which is sort of my apology for this story. It will end slightly happier. Enjoy this chapter!**


	14. Chapter 14

**It's been a hell of a week. That's just about all I can say. A good friend ended up in the hospital, and I started a collaboration with Lolastark. Please review. It makes my day that much better. I think we're finally approaching the sort of ending to this in another five or six chapters. No mater how hard I try, this story just won't die. Enjoy.**

* * *

Chapter 14

"No," Rebecca replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "I won't do it."

""He's not as bad as the servants say. He's just a bit misunderstood. Besides, Joffrey is better than any man your brother can match you with." Just his name, Joffrey, was enough to make her stomach churn. 'You could be queen."

I'll be queen without Joffrey, she thought. "I won't marry him," she insisted.

Tyrion raised his eyebrow. "Do you mind if I sit down? My legs are starting to cramp."

"Fine," she said, and stepped aside, letting him into the room she had been given.

"Thank you," he said, glancing up at her as he passed her. He sat down in the chair beside the door. "Most girls would kill to be queen."

Rebecca snorted. "I'm not most girls."

Tyrion sighed. "I knew your father," he began, looking into the distance behind her. "Did you know that?" Rebecca looked down at her feet. She hadn't known that. "I was in King's Landing on some meaningless task for my father. Jon Arryn was the hand of the king back then. I was supposed to hate him. My father was the Hand of the King back when the Mad King still ruled, and it was a slight that Robert hadn't named him Hand after he usurped the throne." He leaned back. "For an old man just as obsessed with honor as the late Eddard Stark, he was a good ruler."

"That old man is my father," Rebecca spat. Who was he to insult father? Jon Arryn was twice the man he would ever be.

Tyrion shook his head. "You need to learn how to take a compliment. Your father was the best thing to happen to Robert Baratheon since he gained the throne. Robert knew how to gain the throne, but your father knew how to run it. Without him, Robert would have lost the throne in less than a year."

Rebecca sat there, her hands in her lap, staring at the ground, silently. "He left behind a legacy, you know," Tyrion continued. "That legacy isn't necessarily wasted on your brother." Rebecca remained silent. "There hasn't been an Arryn on a throne, any throne, since the Kings of Mountain and Vale. You could raise your family higher than even your father could."

Rebecca nodded. "Thank you. I will keep that in mind. Now, please, get out."

* * *

The Arryn girl slammed the door shut after he left, which was the perfect end to a perfect day. Tyrion shook his head and walked away. Bronn stood up to follow, but he waved the man away. He didn't need protection. What he needed right now was silence, good wine, and maybe a whore. He knew where he could get the last two, but silence was going to be hard to come by.

Tywin wouldn't be happy at all to hear about his son's failure. Hell, maybe he would. His father had been trying to think of a reason to disown him and name Tyrion's uncle his heir since Jaime joined the Kingsguard. Maybe this would be a good chance for Tywin to finally rid himself of his troublesome son.

He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't notice Varys until they just about collided. "Lord Tyrion," the eunuch said slowly and deliberately, bowing down. "I hope your journey was well."

Tyrion chuckled. "My journey wasn't nearly so bad as my arrival."

"I heard you threatened the king."

"I was warning him."

"Whatever you call it, you may have made a terrible enemy. I do hope you know what you are doing."

"I like to think I do." He tried to pass the man, but Varys stepped in his way.

"That's the way to the Arryn girl's chambers, yes?"

Tyrion shrugged. "For now. She may be relocated to a place more fitting her status."

"I hear she's to marry our young Joffrey."

Tyrion sighed. "One day I'll figure out how you know so much."

"I always tell you the truth. A little bird told me."

"So you say."

"Don't try to change the subject. Is she to become the queen?"

Tyrion ran his hand through his hair. "Gods be good, yes. If I can only convince her that it's a good idea."

"Which it's not."

"No," Tyrion agreed. "It's not."

"Perhaps it is for the best that she doesn't marry the king. I've heard that she stayed at the Young Wolf's camp, even shared his bed. Would we want a woman so easily seduced wed to our king?"

"The Young Wolf's camp?" Tyrion asked, frowning.

Varys shrugged. "Perhaps it is only rumors. But what is to be done? If she can't be convinced, bullied, or tricked," Varys seemed to linger on the last word, or maybe it only seemed like it, "then perhaps the gods simply don't wish for this marriage to be."

"Perhaps," Tyrion muttered, frowning. "Please excuse me, I have much to think about."

"As you wish, my lord," Varys said, stepping to the side. Tyrion could hear him humming as he went about his way.

What a strange man, Tyrion thought as he entered the tower of the hand, making his way towards his chambers. What he said wasn't wrong, he needed to convince Rebecca that marrying Joffrey wasn't a bad thing.

Although it was.

Gods help him.

That she had stayed at Robb Stark's camp… that was news to him. Perhaps he could use it to his advantage.

Tyrion entered his bed chambers and sat heavily on the bed. He sighed. If being the hand of the king was this hard, who would ever want to be king?

* * *

Something was off, that much was clear as soon as Rebecca entered the room. Joffrey was perched on his throne with a scowl on his face, just as he had been every time she entered the courtroom for the last several days. The court was whispering to each other with more frenzy than usual, as if they had heard an especially interesting rumor. Tyrion stood to the left of the king's throne, with Cersei to the left.

Tyrion had a letter in his hand, which he was reading aloud, still too far away for Rebecca to clearly hear what he was saying.

He finished as she approached the base of the throne. "Your grace," she said, bowing.

Tyrion nodded to her. "Robb Stark has taken a wife," he said solemnly.

Rebecca didn't respond at first. Robb? Wife? He was going to marry her, would have if it weren't for Theon Greyjoy. She was on her way to the sept, the sept, when she had been kidnapped. Damn Theon.

Her heart fell. "To whom?"

"We don't know. All the letter says is that they married a few days prior," Tyrion responded.

Rebecca nodded, and turned, leaving the great hall as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself. When she passed through the doors, she felt tears sting her eyes and threaten to fall.

Damn Robb. He said he loved her. Did she really mean so little to him that he could have moved on with no thoughts to her? Was she just a piece of honor he tarnished?

She was so caught up in thoughts that she barely noticed the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to see Tyrion, who must have followed her out of the hall.

"The offer still stands, Rebecca," Tyrion said, his voice low and his eyes fixed on her, like he was trying to calm a wild animal. "Would you like to be queen?"

"Very well," she responded, and it felt like her fate was sealed with those two words.

* * *

The rain soaked Robb's cloak, and his boots stuck in the mud. The silent sisters moved the cart slowly, carrying the body as respectfully as they could. If he could have had his way, the funeral would have taken place at Riverrun. The war would make travel dangerous, and criminals were not above attacking silent sisters.

Beside him, his brown haired wife pulled her cloak around her, trying to keep herself dry. He had half a mind to offer her his cloak, but she'd only roll her eyes and turn away, especially after their fight. He ought to apologize to her, but she had been ignoring him ever since the night before.

He sighed and watched the cart leave the castle, the gates closing behind it. People began to leave, rushing to the great hall before they were too badly soaked, tantalized by images of roaring fire and steaming food. Already, the cold body in the casket was forgotten.

He couldn't help but wonder if things could have gone differently, like she said earlier. Maybe, under the right circumstances, things might have worked.

Maybe in another time. Maybe in another life.

He turned away and walked towards the castle, trailing just behind his wife. Before she entered the hall, she held the door open, and they made eye contact. Her brown eyes met his, and he could see she was just as upset as he was.

* * *

The wedding, though planned at the last minute, was a royal one, which meant extravagance. The Lannisters had gotten everything they wanted from this marriage, their king had a wife and thus a means of producing an heir, they prevented an alliance between the Vale and the North, and had an excuse to have a feast, something few and far between since the war began.

Rebecca was dressed in a blue and white dress, stretching all the way down past her ankles.

That was exactly how she felt.

Blue.

She didn't have a choice, she told herself. The Lannisters forced her to marry their boy king. If she had objected, they would have killed her. Simple as that.

Her weak reassurances did nothing to help the hollowness in her chest. Her own words wouldn't stop her flood of emotions. She needed someone else to comfort her, to tell her she had no other choice and that she had done the right thing in an awful, awful scenario. She needed Robb.

Still, that wasn't to say she was completely disgusted by the whole ordeal. The dress the maids brought her was beautiful, and when she put it on, she looked as though the Maiden herself had made the dress personally for her. It was a dress fit for a Queen.

Rebecca turned around, looking over her shoulder to get a better view of the back of the dress. What kind of dress would she have worn at her and Robb's wedding if Theon hadn't stolen her away? Would she have worn Lady Catelyn's wedding dress, a vision of blue and red? Or would she wear the dress of one of the Lord Frey's daughters, the ultimate slight yo his family? Would they say their vows in a sept, or in a godswood? That night, when they went to his chambers, would Robb have brought in a bed big enough for two? The questions would plague her forever, the marriage she was never allowed to have with the man she was never allowed to love.

The door creaked open in front of her, and Rebecca looked away from the mirror. It was commonly the father who walked the bride into the sept, the father who unpinned his daughter's cloak and who would say nothing as the groom clasped his own over her back, but Jon Arryn had long since died.

Standing in the doorway, dressed in chainmail and a white cloak, was one of the Kingsguard, Ser Meryn, his palm resting on his sheathed sword. He looked uninterested, as if escorting girls to their forced marriage was a normal job for a Knight of the Kingsguard.

"It's time, my lady," he said, and held out his arm.

Rebecca said nothing, but walked forward and took his arm. He was almost certainly told to hurt her if she refused, so she did what he told her, like a good little wife-to-be.

He lead her down the long, twisting corridors of the Red Keep, the hallways usually littered with servants moving from room to room now deserted. As though the entire castle was empty. As if she could be so lucky.

They stopped briefly at the door to the sept. Two gold cloaks stood guard over the entrance, their swords drawn, the tips planted on the ground and the hilts facing up. Seeing Rebecca and Ser Meryn approach, they stepped to the side and opened both doors in unison.

Rebecca took a deep breath and stepped into the sept.

The king was there, standing just in front if the septon, dressed in gold and crimson colors. His mouth twisted into a smirk when he saw her, and he ran his eyes down her body, not bothering to be subtle or discrete.

The sept was filled with just about everyone from the Red Keep, from the Queen Regent to the very handmaidens who helped her get dressed earlier that day. Everyone was here to see their king wed. And it was all just a mummer's farce.

Ser Meryn lead her to the septon, until she was standing beside Joffrey, until his hand brushed against her dress. She shivered at the contact. His hands were cold, like fish scales.

The septon began to speak, but Rebecca stopped listening. Her mind was elsewhere. She was the black cat on the rooftops she could see through the painted glass window. She was the raven flying high in the sky, black wings made darker against the outline of the sun. She was the fly, zipping around the sept until it landed on the plate of one of the Kingsguard, a knight who she didn't have a chance to meet.

Joffrey stepped behind her and removed her cloak, letting it slide to the floor around her feet. She was the septon himself, living a simple life of prayer and penance.

Joffrey pulled his cloak around her, fastening it with the golden lion's head brooch.

She was Ser Meryn, capable of killing Joffrey with a single blow of his blade.

She was Rebecca. She couldn't become someone else because it made the pain go away. No matter how much she wanted to.

Joffrey pressed his lips against her cheek and turned her around to face the crowd, raising her hand, entwined with his, up in the air triumphantly. The people stood and cheered, clapping their hands together, happy to forget the fact that neither the bride didn't have a choice, that if she had refused she'd have one less finger.

Joffrey was grinning ear to ear, his eyes wide and dancing across the crowd, taking in the attention and love he was getting from his subjects. He was her husband now. She was his wife. His queen.

Gods help her.

* * *

**A/n:** **In case it wasn't clear, the italics is something that's going to happen in the future. Thank you for reading. If you have the time, please review.**


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